


Beginnings in Disguise

by Rensong



Category: Dogma
Genre: Drama, F/M, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 43,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rensong/pseuds/Rensong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no book titled "How to Raise Divine Offspring for Dummies". Rated T only for language - it is based on a Kevin Smith movie, after all - and a very mild T at that.</p><p>(story is technically unfinished - there will be more, I promise!  However, it was originally set up as a series of one shots, so even unfinished it hopefully doesn't leave you hanging at all)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_(We'll get the long, boring AN stuff out of the way first – here after I'm going to try very hard to add them at the end of chapters where they are easily ignored. ;) )_

_Authors Note – Despite numerous attempts, I have been unable to find a beta for this story as of yet, so I do apologize for any errors. Feel free to point them out to me and I will gladly correct them!_

_Secondly, according to Bethany Sloane's Wiki, she was born in 1961 and thus was 35 years old in Dogma. I am making use of my creative license and fudging that number a bit so she was 32-33, as was my initial impression when I first watched the movie. This probably won't affect much in the story, but I do make a few pop-culture refs that might not fit into the time line as neatly if I didn't mention it._

.....

There are no bright lights or heavenly host singing on the day (and a night and another day) of the Second Coming. No guiding stars, no sounding trumpets, no choir of angles and – thankfully – no barnyard animals. In fact, the only witnesses to this joyous _(six weeks early You rat bastard)_ occasion are three harried nurses, the attending _(because Dr. Abbigal is in the fucking_ Bahamas _because Your brat decided to come fucking_ six weeks early _!)_ , an abortion clinic worker _(thank you, Liz, for not making me do this alone because You fucking_ left _me down here to deal with this all on my own)_ and one extremely pissed off mother-to-be.

If any of them wondered why Bethany Slone kept shouting such colorful and creative curses towards the ceiling, they simply blamed it on the fatigue of the birthing process and slight loopyness of the drugs they gave her to dull the pain. If you'd spent forty-three hours in labor, you'd probably be pretty damned cranky, too.

Then, with one final push and the most ear-ringing expletive of all, suddenly it's over and the sound of crying fills the room and the doctor is placing a small, red, wiggling body into her arms, screaming bloody murder about the cold and unforgiving new world she's been brought into, and she's the most beautiful thing Bethany has ever seen.

...

Night had fallen hours ago, leaving behind that time between late night and early morning when even the hospital seemed to pause, to catch its breath and regroup before moving on to the next emergency. Bethany is awake, wrapped in the hushed silence of her room, looking down at her small, beautiful, perfect little girl and marveling at the miracle of her as she sleeps.

"You are amazing," she whispers, feeling the warm burn of tears in her eyes that she is totally going to blame on hormones.

"She is a bit, isn't she?" someone else says, just as quietly, unwilling to disturb the sleeping child. Bethany looks up with a smile, completely unsurprised to see the Metatron standing next to her bed.

"They are a bit ugly when they come into this world, aren't they? All red and wrinkly." He steps closer and runs a gentle finger down the side of the baby's face, and since Bethany can hear the underlying affection in the comment, she decides not to smack his shoulder when it gets within reach. Besides, that would require her to unwrap one of her arms from her child, and she wasn't quite willing to make that sacrifice yet. "I suppose that's to be expected, though, what with the method by which they come into the world and all," he continued, and Bethany bites back a smile when his finger is captured by one tiny fist.

"Believe me, it's no treat from this end, either," Bethany replies. _But it's worth it,_ she finishes silently in her head. Out loud, she asks, "And I suppose angels just appear out of nothingness? "

"Not sure, really," he wiggles his finger, trying half-heartedly to free it from its infant prison, "God never told me and I never asked. I vaguely recall mention of star-dust, though. And none of the messy clean-up."

Bethany chuckles quietly and shakes her head. "Thanks a lot."

Finally able to retrieve his finger, The Voice sits next to her on the hospital bed and put his arm around her shoulders. "And how 'bout you, dear girl? How are you holding up then?"

"I'm..." Exhausted. Invigorated. Thrilled. Amazed. Waaay too emotional. Sleep deprived. Fantastic. Enthralled. Terrified. "I'm... not sure," she admits.

Metatron smiles – a sweet, caring, not-the-least-bit-condescending smile - and squeezes her shoulders. "That sounds about right."

Accepting the comfort he offers – he is family, after all, and completely and totally safe to boot; no risk of sending mixed signals when the man in question lacks the parts that make most men insufferable – Bethany snuggles into his embrace a bit, tilting her head back so it rested on his shoulder. God, she was so tired.

"Yeah, sorry about that." He actually does sound kind of sheepish. "Some things not even God has complete control over – as you are quite familiar with, I'm sure, though at least there was no risk of apocalypse this time around – and the Little Miss there was right determined to get out into the world as soon as she could."

What her disbelieving snort lacks in volume it makes up for in pure feeling. "Could've fooled me, considering the forty-three hours it took before she made her entrance."

"Yes, well, the Family did always have a bit of a flair for the dramatic, wouldn't you agree?"

Bethany's exhausted laughter is muffled slightly by his chest. "Point," she agrees.

She sobers quickly, though, remembering the stories of her daughter's divine past. One story in particular had held a place in her nightmares since she realized what it was to be the mother of a child of God.

"Will she-" her voice cracks, and she can't finish the question for fear of the answer.

"Her big brother already sacrificed his life for the world," Metatron tells her, arm tightening around her shoulders.  
"Her's will be a life of dedication, not sacrifice."

She hugs her daughter even closer, tears of relief falling against the baby-fine dark hair that covers her head. "Thank God," she whispers, meaning it with every fiber of her being.

xXXx

Jay and Silent Bob send flowers, reminding her of the suggested six weeks she should wait before having sex again and helpfully offering their services when the time is up. A day or so later, Rufus drops by, too, though thankfully not in the literal sense this time around.

"I don't know," he says, making baby faces at the child in his arms, "I still say she looks like a 'Rufus' to me."

Bethany rolls her eyes at him. "Her name is Illana. Illana Astraea Sloane. It's on her birth certificate already."

Rufus holds his free hand up in surrender. "Okay, okay, I'll give. But if you ever change your mind, I do know a guy…"

"Rufus!"

...

A few weeks after Bethany gets home from the hospital, she receives a child support check in the mail with a surprising number of zeros on it. Attached is a personal message – "Can't have you cheating on your taxes, after all" – and Bethany laughs for five minutes straight when she notices the signature: The One Who Is Called I Am!

* * *

_Chapter notes, for those interested:_

_Whats in a name? Well, according to the online baby names website I used: Ilana means 'light' 'torch', and Astraea means 'star'._

_Also, Illana's birthday - for the sake of this story, somewhere around February 19, 1999_


	2. Chapter 2

Illana is fourteen weeks old and Bethany's body is finally starting to get back to normal. The sun is out and the coolness of spring is melting into summer, so she decides it might be a nice day to try the Baby Jogger Liz gave her for her baby shower.

Weather in Illinois is anything but predictable, however, and what was supposed to be an easy jog through the park on a bright spring afternoon turns into a sudden downpour that sends Bethany running for cover in the nearest building. "Nearest" wasn't near enough, though, and it is a very wet Bethany that finally manages to push Illana's stroller through the doors of The Candle In The Window Café.

Without waiting to be seated, Bethany collapses into the nearest booth, checking to make sure her daughter isn't any worse for the unplanned sprint through the rain. Thankfully, Illana herself is only slightly damp thanks to the large shade on the stroller and the many layers required to keep babies warm, even when it's 80 degrees outside. She is also still asleep, totally unaffected by their mad dash for cover.

Unlike her daughter, Bethany is soaked through, leaving puddles on the floor beneath her feet and a huge wet spot on the booth's rather nice upholstery. Before she has a chance to do anything about it, though, a well-toned brown forearm in a neatly rolled white shirt sleeve is suddenly ten inches in front of her nose, holding a steaming cup of hot chocolate with a huge dollop of whipped cream bobbing gently on the top.

"Oh wow, thank you so much!" she says gratefully, wrapping her cold hands around the hot mug and taking a sip, smiling up at the owner of the arm - a tall, attractive African American man with cornrows hanging down to his shoulders and a well-trimmed goatee, perhaps ten or fifteen years older than herself. "You are a life saver!"

The man smiles back at her. "My pleasure," he replies, and his voice as smooth and warm as the hot chocolate he had given her - which is by far the best hot cocoa she had ever had in her life. "Judging from the trail of water you left on my floor from the door to the table, you needed it."

Bethany looks behind her, alarmed to notice a long trail of soggy footprints and wheel tracks all the way across the tile. "Oh, no!" she exclaimed, horrified at the mess. "I am so sorry, I'll clean it up," she continues, setting her mug down starting to stand.

The gentleman laughs, placing a hand on her shoulder to prevent her from getting up. "Relax... that wasn't an accusation, and a little water never hurt no-one. Besides, that is what I have minions for." He winks at her and turns to gesture to the man working behind the counter of the little café. "Hey, John , you mind?"

The guy behind the counter – John, who looked to be in his early 20s and far too pretty for his own good – is already getting out the mop and bucket. "On it, boss. I also grabbed a towel for the lady." He tosses said towel across the room – a good twenty feet, at least – where it was deftly snatched out of the air by man standing next to her. He turns back around and offers it to Bethany with another smile.

"I know it looks kind of ratty, but I promise you it is clean."

Bethany laughed, gratefully accepting the towel. True to his word, it smells clean and fresh, and is significantly fluffier than she would expect from such an obviously well used cloth. "Thanks again, sir."

He waves off the honorific. "Please, call me Rab. Everyone else does."

"Rab then. Again, thank you. I really appreciate this." Using the towel to attempt to squeeze some of the excess water from her hair, she continues. "Did you guys just open out here? I don't recall seeing this place last time I was in the area." Granted, it had been over a year since she had visited the park, but McHenry wasn't exactly a large town, so news tended to travel pretty fast.

"We've only been open a few months." Rab gestures to the seat across from her. "May I?" At Bethany's nod, he sits down. "We were looking for a change in scenery, so my wife and I packed it up and moved down here around mid-winter. Judging from the size of that beautiful little girl curled up beside you, I'd say we've been around about as long as she has. She's, what, fifteen weeks?"

"Fourteen," Bethany answers, smiling fondly at her still sleeping daughter. "How did you know?"

Rab just gives her a knowing smile. "Lucky guess, I suppose. Anyway, thanks to some long term stocks I bought years and years ago, along with a few earlier shares my father passed down to me, Mary and I found ourselves in a very good situation financially."

"'Time in the market is better than timing the market,'" Bethany quotes, recalling the long dull hours spent in her Finances and Accounting class in college."

"Indeed," Rab continues, nodding his approval. "With a cozy little nest-egg at our disposal, the two of us decided to follow a dream. Mary is a fantastic cook, and I always wanted to make a place where people could talk and share stories in a comfortable setting. And so," he gestures around grandly, "The Candle in the Window was born."

Bethany looks around, _really_ looking this time, and takes in the polished tile floors and the warm wooden glow of the support beams and walls, both accented with finely-carved vines and leaves here and there. The interior itself is a lot larger than Bethany first realized, probably at least sixty feet long and thirty or forty wide. One wall is taken up by a normal looking diner counter – if you ignored the fact that the counter itself appeared to be solid wood, constructed out of something that looked a lot like Curly Maple and polished until it practically glowed. On the other side of the room, perpendicular to the counter, is a bar made out of the same material, with bottles and glasses stored neatly on shelves surrounding a large mirror in the center of the wall. Not too far from the bar is a slightly raised platform with several comfy looking couches and chairs in a half-circle around it, their wine-red upholstery matching the material that covered the booth she was sitting in. The atmosphere of the restaurant was almost a weird hybrid mix between an old time pub and a modern-day coffee shop, and the effect was both relaxed and fun at the same time.

"It's beautiful," Bethany said. "I can tell you put a lot of hard work and love into it."

Rab looks around, too, smiling in obvious pride of his work. "It was indeed a labor of love. Words cannot express how happy we were on the day she first opened and we were given a chance to share that love." His smile turned smug and ever so slightly sly. "And I must insist you tell all of your friends about as soon as you can so we can _stay_ open."

Bethany raises her hand in the traditional salute. "Scouts honor," she promises, almost managing to keep a straight face.

The front door dings before he can respond, and they both look up as it emits another rather soggy customer.

Rab heaves out a small sigh as he stands. "Duty calls. Best get back to work before my wife glares me to death." He nods toward the kitchen, where a very beautiful woman with creamed-coffee skin and a pristine white apron is giving Rab a rather pointed look as she sets some steaming plates of food onto the divider. "Order anything you want – it's on the house," he continues with a grin. "Perhaps as incentive to come back and visit some day."

Bethany laughs, surprised at how easy and familiar it feels, as if she hadn't just met the man ten minutes ago and had instead known him her whole life. "Sounds like a good deal to me. Thanks again for everything."

He spreads his arms out to his side and gives an ever so slight a bow of his head, along with another heart-warming grin. "I live to serve, after all."

...

Recalling the quiet comfort that pretty much oozed from the place, Bethany keeps her promise and makes it a point to visit the cafe on a regular basis after that, and Rab always welcomes her with a smile and a few minutes of conversation if he can get away. Of course, from what she can tell, Rab treats _everyone_ that way, but sometimes it is nice to pretend she's special. The warm, friendly disposition of the owners paired with the "Welcome Home" atmosphere of the cafe itself leaves Bethany with no doubt that The Candle in the Window will be there for a long, long time to come.

A few weeks pass, however, and it doesn't take long for Rab to become a true friend, someone she has no trouble talking to and leaning on because he's the kind of man you know can carry you all the way if need-be. Illana is a joy, and Bethany wouldn't give her up for the world, but she still has the same fears and struggles of any new mother. Hours away from her own family, Rab and Mary's solid presence and 'been everywhere, seen everything' kind of worldly experience is huge comfort to have near-by.

In a crazy, busy world, a girl has to find sanctuary somewhere, after all; Candle in the Window becomes hers. And if that sanctuary happens to have some really great food and an abundance of hot chocolate - well, who is she to protest?

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _AN - 'Candle in the Window' is just a product of my imagination that exist on a non-existent small town-like main street on the southeast side of McHenry, Illinois. In my head (and where I think it fits best on the map of McHenry, courtesy of Google Earth), the café is located on what actually appears to be a residential area just to the north and the north-west of Creekside Park ('the park' Bethany was going to jog through), which is also where - or very close to where - the Bethany In My Head (and therefore this story) lives. Whether or not the real Creekside Park is a nice place to jog, I have no idea, but hey, it is called "fiction" for a reason. ;)_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

At twenty-two weeks, after a particularly long and trying day filled with too much coffee and not enough sleep because Illana is teething and fussy and hasn't managed to stay asleep for more than two hours at a time for more than a week, and Bethany is tired and PMS-ey and just wants to cry from the stress of everything, Metatron shows up at her door with a diaper bag, a hot water bottle, and a strict admonishment to "Go to bed already, woman!"

She doesn't go to bed, but she does lie down on the couch in the living room, a mindless romantic comedy on the television and a hot water bottle pressed against her middle. Metatron looks at her, a baby on his arm and a towel over his shoulder, and the image is so unbelievably domestic that Bethany wants to laugh, but all that really emerges is a muffled, slightly hysterical giggle.

Metatron rolls his eyes at the sound before turning to walk into the kitchen, muttering something decidedly non-complimentary about humans and entirely inappropriate for her innocent daughter's ears. He returns a minute later with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol, though, so Bethany decides to forgive him. Illana is still too young to remember anything anyway.

Not much later, she dozes off to the sound of his smooth, accented voice telling their daughter about her father and her brother and the one time her mommy saved the world.

She wakes up the next morning when the sun hits her eyes from an unfamiliar angle, wrapped in a blanket with Illana sleeping soundly in her crib next to the couch. Bethany lays there for a bit, warm and comfortable, reveling in the early-morning silence of a city that isn't quite awake yet and a daughter who is sleeping soundly for the first time in far too long.

She gets up about twenty minutes later when her stomach demands sustenance, and her bare feet are almost soundless on the carpet as she wanders into the kitchen. On the table there is a simple breakfast of fresh fruit and orange juice, with a note sitting next to it.

"Tried the non-interference thing last time and it didn't turn out so well. This time it will be different."

xxXXxx

Life goes on. Bethany continues to juggle her job at the clinic (part-time only, thanks to the monthly child support checks) with being a full time mom, but she is never left totally on her own. Metatron isn't always available – he is The Voice of God, after all, and God is probably pretty damn busy – but Liz is almost always around when she needs an extra set of hands, and Rufus is a regular visitor, too, quite willing to watch Illana for a few hours a week while Bethany runs errands.

"Never had a chance to have any of my own, you know?" he says one afternoon, Illana on his lap happily chewing on a rubber moose. "I wanted a few, but the disciple life really didn't leave a lot of opportunity to settle down and have a family. We were always moving, spreading the word and offering a few sets of helping hands. It was great, mind, and I wouldn't trade any of those nights for the world, but it was nice to dream."

He makes a face all of a sudden, and starts shifting a bit to get a better grip on Illana before standing. "You know what the best part of this set up is, though?" he asks. Then he takes two steps required to dump Illana into her lap, and Bethany blinks at the sudden arm full of squirmy child.

"I can give her back at the end of the day," he smirks, grabbing his jacket and heading for the door just as she smells the rather ripe odor wafting from the general vicinity of her daughter's backside.

Bethany glares and flips him off as the door closes behind him.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _22 weeks = about 5 and a half months, and after not-so-much searching with Google, I determined that most babies start teething between month 6 and month 9, so I figure I was close enough to fall within the wiggle room._
> 
> _And yes, I know that Rufus is kind of still dead and thus probably shouldn't really be around so much in the mortal coil, but come on - you expect me to give up on an awesome character just because he's dead? ;) I figure he and the Powers that Be just came to an agreement when They decided to hold off on the changes in the Bible for a century or two until we mere mortals can handle everything without the all religious sects starting a riot or twenty. Thus, until the Truth, the Whole Truth and nothing but the Truth is written, Rufus gets a bit more leeway shuffling between the planes of existence._


	4. Bonus Scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _This bit is a bit of a shout out to Milkshake Butterfly, who wrote the Dogma/Brimstone crossover "Nativity" which is totally one of my favorite fics of all time_. _If you get the chance, yuletidetreasure. org/archive/12/nativity. html (without the spaces; still haven't figured out if it is possible to post links links without ff dot net eating them), or do a web search for "milkshake butterfly + Nativity" and I almost guarentee you'll get a link to the story. :)  
> _

A year after Illana is born, Bethany straps her into her car seat and starts the four hour drive to visit her mother for a week. Her plan right now consists of arriving, handing the kid off to her grandmother, and sleeping for at least two days because Illana finally figured out the whole "walking" thing about a month ago, mastered the 'running' thing two weeks after that, and Bethany isn't sure she's actually slept since.

Two hours into the drive, she realizes she left the extra diapers sitting on the kitchen table back in McHenry.

Muttering under her breath and calling herself ten kinds of stupid with words otherwise not spoken in front of children, Bethany pulls into the next Wal-Mart she sees and parks the car just as a few fat, white snowflakes start falling from the sky. She doesn't pay them much mind; she checked the weather before she left, and the weatherman was pretty convinced the most they would see would be a few scattered snow flurries – nothing that would cause concern for travelers.

Walking through the automatic doors, though, with snowflakes in her hair and a sleepy child in her arms, she gets the strangest feeling of déjà-vu ever - a feeling that only doubles when she notices a handful of nuns loading boxes of goods into a 60s-era VW van in the loading zone.

Shaking it off, she grabs a cart so she doesn't have to juggle Illana and whatever package of diapers she finally picks up while she weaves her way through shoppers taking advantage of discount Valentines merchandise. Ten minutes later she finds her prize – a 27 pack of Pampers Custom Fit, on sale for 50 cents off.

She swings by the snack aisle on her way to the check-out to satisfy a sudden Oreo craving, and they're back on the road less than a half an hour later.


	5. Introspection

Bethany had never been the dependent type. She tried it, once, with Brett - let herself lean on someone, just a little - and it all fell down around her ears. After that she was convinced that the only person she could ever truly depend on was herself, so she took her bruised and battered heart and buried it in a shell of pride that no one - not Liz, and especially not her family - could even have a hope of breaking through.

Then along came an angel, a pair of sex obsessed prophets, and a dead apostle to charge her with a holy mission where pride would do her exactly squat, and they cheerfully smashed that shell to pieces. Thinking back on it, Bethany agrees that she might've deserved it - pride is, after all, one of the seven deadly sins - but at the time it left her with a soul-deep shock, her broken heart exposed again, unprotected and vulnerable.

She went on to save the world - which was great for the ego, no doubt about that - but truthfully, after that whole fiasco, pride was the last thing on her mind. Sitting in front of the church, after God and the rest had left, Jay making crude comments on her left and her blood still covering Bob's hands, all that Bethany felt was relief that she had been able to pull it off in the first place - with a lot of help from her friends, of course - and an almost overwhelming joy at the life that was now growing inside of her.

Pride wasn't an option anymore; in a few months, she was going to have a child, and being too stubborn to ask for help wasn't just going to affect her anymore, but her daughter as well. And considering her daughter might very well become a savior to mankind one day... well, if that isn't incentive enough to Not Screw Up, Bethany didn't know what was.

Still, leaning on her family and friends is one thing - they never truly let her down in the past. Given her poorly worded advice, yes, but they never let her down. Her heart, though, that was another story, and without a shell of pride to wrap it in, she decided the next best thing was to bury it in the love of her daughter. Illana was going be her world, the point in space that she revolved around like the Earth revolved around the sun. Throwing another star into the equation - even a tiny one without nearly as much pull, like a relationship or boyfriend - would only cause an imbalance.

It was at that point Bethany started wondering why, exactly, she was thinking in such flowery metaphors, and if it had anything to do with the divine spirit she was - in the most literal sense of the word – now carrying. Then she decided that she was already thinking about it way too much and moved on.

Sometimes, though, late at night, after Illana is safely asleep and there is no one else around to hear her thoughts, Bethany wishes - in some small corner of her brain that she hopes is safe from nosy deities - that there was someone lying in the bed beside her; that she had someone to share this wonderful, crazy life with.

The feeling never lasts long, and by the time morning comes, she's usually completely over it. Mary may have had Joseph, true, but Bethany has Rufus, Liz, Rab, and Metatron. She's not alone - she never is, not really - and it's enough.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I do apologize for the short chapters - truthfully, I pretty much wrote the first 10,000 words of this story in one fell swoop and I didn't even think about pesky things like "chapters" at the time._


	6. Chapter 6

At twenty months, Illana is growing like a weed and Bethany's two-bedroom apartment no longer seems big enough to contain the child's endless energy, so she starts looking at classifieds and the real-estate pages in the newspaper, researching the best schools in the area, and looking into all of the hoops she would have to jump through to get a loan.

Three months and more than a dozen houses later, she walks into a bright, airy ranch-style home with big windows, wooden floors, and a tree-shaded back yard. Illana, who had been surprisingly subdued all morning, squirms in her arms and makes a b-line for the back yard as soon as Bethany sets her securely on her feet. The patio doors barely even daunt her – she figured out door handles as soon as she could reach them, and she has an uncanny ability with locks that forced Bethany to invest in some more complicated mechanisms at least twice in as many months – and she is out playing among the slightly damp sun-dappled shade of the back yard in the in less than a minute. Bethany tosses a slightly apologetic look over her shoulder at her real-estate agent, Evelyn, and goes to follow her daughter outside.

The yard isn't huge, but there is more than enough space for a small swing-and-slide set and a picnic table or two. The biggest selling point, though, isn't the size, but the six-foot wooden fence that wraps all the way around it. Another bonus – the fence appears quiet sound and plenty secure enough that even a clever and extremely curious almost-two-year-old might have a hard time escaping it.

After a quick scan, the yard also proves to be about as toddler-proof as the outdoors can be, so Bethany leaves Illana where she is – thoroughly engrossed with the puddle of water collected beneath one of the rain-spouts at the corner of the house – and goes back inside to let Evelyn give her an abbreviated tour of the rest of the house.

A second huge point in the place's favor – almost every room except the bathroom has at least one window or door looking out onto the back yard, so it's easy to keep track of Illana. It means she'd probably end up spending a small fortune on insulating window coverings if she buys the place – winters in Illinois can be pretty brutal – but it would be worth it to always know where her daughter is when she's outside.

As the tour continues, she is also able to check off some of the other requirements on her mental "this is what I want" list - it's in a nice, quiet part of town (as house seven and nine were not) and only about a mile and a half away from the school she hopes to have Illana attend in a few years (which axed house three and eight off the list). There is plenty of space for herself and her daughter (which discounted house four, which actually seemed to have less square footage than her apartment) and the six foot fence around the back yard would be just as good at keeping wandering eyes out as it was at keeping clever toddlers in (a novelty house six lacked, and the neighbors there didn't seem to believe in window shades. She never wanted to see that much pasty, jiggly flesh ever again). There was also full basement (as house seven did not, and house eleven's would cost too much to refinish) that would offer a bit of peace of mind for someone living at the edge of Tornado Ally.

There were a few downsides as well – it was a bit of a walk to the nearest playground, there wasn't much space for storage, and the driveway was just barely big enough for two cars parked side-by-side – but unless you had the money and the time to build up your own custom house from scratch, the most you could you could do was try and find the best fit for you and your needs. So far, this place was feeling like a pretty good fit – if she could bring herself not to mind the additional ten grand on the price tag.

"Give me a few minutes to think about it?" she asks, and Evelyn replies with a sincere "Of course" and moves into a different room to give her a bit of privacy.

Drawn by the sunlight and the desire to get a better eye on her daughter, Bethany pulls open the patio doors and leans against the door-frame. Illana, who has obviously been making her rounds to every puddle in the back yard, is damp and slightly muddy from her diaper-padded back-side all the way down to her sneakers. Ah, the joys of owning a toddler.

Noticing her mother standing at the doorway, Illana abandons her current puddle and runs over. Laughing, she wraps her arms around Bethany's leg – transferring no shortage of water and mud in the process, and Bethany resigns herself to an afternoon doing laundry – and smiles up at her. "Mama, I go swim!" Then she giggles again and runs off to splash into the nearest puddle.

"You sure do, kiddo," Bethany laughs quietly. "Haven't even bought the place and you're already making memories."

She shakes her head and turns back inside to find Evelyn standing behind her, a wry, friendly smile on her face. "Shall I go get the paperwork, then?" she asks with a raised eyebrow.

Bethany glances over her shoulder as Illana stomps into another puddle. "Yeah," she says, still smiling. Turning back, she continues. "Let's make this place a home."

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

Illana is two years old and her favorite word is "No."

"Would you like some apple juice?"

"No!", but she screams and whacks her sippy cup against the table when Bethany puts the jug in the fridge.

...

"It's a nice day out. Let's go to the park!"

"No," and Illana runs down the hall to the nursery instead.

Five minutes later she comes back, gnawing on a plastic sand shovel and trailing her doggy blanket – a surprisingly innocent gift from Jay and Bob – behind her. Bethany smiles and goes to get the stroller from the back of the car.

Several hours later, Bethany asks as they're walking back, "You know, I betcha Rab and Mary would love a visit. Should we go see them before we go home?"

"Nooooo!" The scream is long and gleeful, and Illana is already running down the street toward The Candle in the Window.

...

They're only a half a block or so away from the house when a flash of crimson and a loud, sweet warbling song catches Bethany's attention.

"Bird!" Illana cries, laughing as she points to the cardinal singing in a tree across the street. Her eyes are bright with child-like wonder, as if the bright colored bird singing sweetly in a tree only a few feet away is the most amazing thing in the world.

They watch a few minutes as the cardinal flutters around a bit from branch to branch, chirping cheerfully every now and then before finally settling on the tree's highest point. Then it lets out another loud, long warble, singing with all its heart. Illana laughs again, and Bethany knows that this will be a memory that she cherishes forever.

An SUV rolls around the corner ahead of them, and the moment passes. She takes her daughters hand and gives it a gentle tug. "Come on, shrimpkin, time to go." But Illana stays rooted to the spot, watching as the cardinal – satisfied that it has sufficiently declared its happiness to the world – dives from its perch just as the SUV passes beneath the tree it was sitting in. Bethany gasps, but it is already done – a soft thump and a scatter of feathers, and a small red body lying beside the road.

Illana is running toward it before Bethany can stop her. "Illana!" she yells, but her daughter is already there, kneeling beside the fallen bird and lifting it into her lap. Bethany follows, knowing it is useless to yell or scold because, no matter her age, Illana is still her Father's daughter.

So she crouches beside her instead, wrapping her arm around her daughter as she sniffles and cries almost silent tears over the still, tiny body in her lap. "I'm sorry, sweetie."

"No," Illana looks up at her, and her eyes are far too old to be on a child's face. In that moment Bethany hates God, just a little, for making their daughter go through this; hates herself for the human half that causes her daughter pain.

"NO!" Illana yells, covering the bird with her tiny hands. Then there is a chirp and a flutter and a flash of crimson wings, and Illana's lap is empty and there is a cardinal at the top of the tree singing his joy to the world as if nothing ever happened. If it weren't for the tear tracks still on her daughters face, Bethany would almost believe nothing had.

"Look, Mama!" Illana laughs and points, care-free child once again. "Bird! It got better!"

Bethany scoops her daughter into her arms, holding her close. "Yeah, baby," she answers, torn between relief and terror, "it got better. And it just made things a lot more interesting."

...

Two weeks later, a baffled child care worker at Illana's day care wonders out loud why the water cooler is suddenly filled with grape juice, and Bethany makes a mental note to take Illana aside once they get home tell her why it is a bad idea to use her newly discovered super powers in public.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Right, so if you're reading this, you are most likely a fan of Dogma. If you are a fan of Dogma, you probably aren't one of those super fanatical Christians and accept that there might be a bit of wiggle room when it comes to how one interprets the religion. If you have that Point of View, great! I hope that means that you won't be horribly offended by a few of the background implications I make in this particular chapter. If you like the_ Di Vinci Code, _you are probably even less likely to be offended. However, if you are avidly against either or both_ _, you might want to skip this chapter._

Bethany never really thought she would be the cooking type, but after four years of being the center of a divine circus with friends, apostles, angels, and even the occasional Muse dropping by for dinner, she has become quite the chef. Her skills in the kitchen don't hold a candle to the masterpieces that Mary can whip up, but still, she has discovered a joy of cooking (not to be confused with the Joy of Sex, which has sadly become nothing more than a very fond memory since Illana was born. Before, actually, what with her being the Mother of God, Version 2.0 - and an equally miraculous method of conception) that makes her feel a disturbing kinship with Martha Stewart. As long as she doesn't start making centerpieces out of toilet paper, though, she figures she's safe.

Some nights, though, she just does not want to expend the effort it takes to make a whole meal, and she _really_ doesn't want to deal with the clean-up afterward. Those are the nights she heads to The Candle and lets Rab take care of the mess. With Rufus on baby-sitting duty when she arrives home from work, she invites him along for the ride.

One missing shoe, a desperate search for Blanki (which Bethany finds in the fridge, of all places), and a five-mile detour around construction later, they arrive at the restaurant about an hour after they intended to leave. The inconvenient road work doesn't seem to be having an effect on the dinner crowd, though, because The Candle seems just as busy as ever. Once again, Bethany marvels at the restaurant's ability to be stuffed to the gills and still maintain the quiet, easy-going atmosphere.

Rab is in his usual place behind the host podium when she walks through the door, ushering Illana in front of her. "Well, if it isn't my two favorite customers!" he says with a grin, swinging a giggling Illana up over his head briefly before settling her against his hip in a motion of practiced ease. When he notices Rufus sliding in behind her, his grin grows, "And an old friend."

Rufus grins right back. "Well if it ain't my brother Rabboni." He raised his hand, and the two of them do a complicated series of knuckle-bumps before Rufus continues. "What are you doing down here, man? I thought you were still up topside playing Right Hand to your old man?"

Rab chuckled. "Nah, been down here for awhile. The job was getting kind of dull, and I figured a vacation was in order. Besides," he pauses, hitching Illana a bit higher on his hip and nodding toward a flabbergast Bethany, "I wanted to be closer to the family."

"I hear ya, my friend," Rufus agrees. "By the way, you still owe me twelve bucks."

Rab laughs, handing him a menu. "Next time I hit the bank, promise. How about a free dinner for now?"

"A dinner prepared by the fine Madam Magdalene? You don't have to ask me twice," he agrees enthusiastically. Armed with a menu, he makes a his way to one of the few remaining empty tables on the other side of the restaurant, leaving Rab, Illana, and a dumb-founded Bethany to follow at their own pace.

"I shouldn't be surprised, should I," she says after the initial shock has worn off enough to speak.

Rab raises an eyebrow, completely untroubled by the toddler chewing on his dreadlocks. "No," he agreed, "you really shouldn't."

And if he looks ever so slightly smug as he turns to follow Rufus across the room, well, Bethany figures it's nothing if not deserved.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _AN - In this story, "Rab" is short for "Rabboni" (I couldn't just give it away by calling him Jesus, now could I? ;) ), which is a reference to the title for Jesus that Mary Magdalene uses in the first passage of John 20, "The Empty Tomb"_
> 
>  
> 
> ...
> 
> He asked her, "Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?"
> 
> Thinking he was the gardener, she said, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him."
> 
> Jesus said to her, "Mary."
> 
> She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, "Rabboni!" (which means "Teacher")
> 
>  
> 
> _..._
> 
>  
> 
> _Then after some accidental research, I discovered that "Rab" also means "Master", which also works! Amazing what you learn when you do a Google Search! :)_


	9. Chapter 9

Just before Illana's third birthday, the clinic offers Bethany a chance to go to a medical technology conference in – of all places – New Jersey. Based on the quite literal apocalyptic circumstances last she visited the state, she almost turns the trip down, but after much prompting from Liz – "They want to send you on an all expenses paid vacation, and you want to turn it _down_?" – she lets herself be convinced. She makes arrangements with Rab and Mary to watch Illana for a few days, and on a whim, emails Bob (as she learned the hard way that emailing Jay at all will only result in having to wade through all of sorts of dirty chain letters and lewd minute-by-minute details on his latest sexual escapades) to ask if there is anything worth seeing or doing in the area. Bob replies with a surprising list of activities – including some museum exhibits he thinks she might be interested in (she rolls her eyes at "The Treasures of the Bible", and laughs when she sees "Arcade Evolution – 30 Years of Video Games " listed right after it) – and offers himself (and, rather apologetically, Jay as well) to be her personal tour guide while she's visiting.

So, for three days Bethany runs around a huge convention center in Atlantic City, checking out the latest gizmos and medical technologies that have been created to make your hospital run smoother. Most of it is way over her head (and her clinic's budget), but some of the lectures are weirdly fascinating (and kinda gross - like the woman who literally had bugs crawling around in her head), and the medical gadgets ranged anywhere from logical and useful (Bethany was particularly impressed with the laser surgery devices) to downright mind-boggling (like the toilet that had the capabilities to flush down anything up to the size of a large cat without plugging; if there were people with that kind of digestive trouble, she _really_ didn't want to know).

Then, after the conference shut down for the day (and the last day entirely, when she plays hookie so she can get to the museums before they closed – after all of the quarters she wasted on Pac Man as a teenager, she really does kinda want to see the video game exhibit), she spends the late afternoons and evenings in the often filthy – but always entertaining – company of Jay and Silent Bob as they hit some of the Atlantic City attractions. The aquarium was small, but still pretty impressive in its own way. The Boardwalk offers all sorts of interesting cuisine and gift shops, even in the middle of winter. The casinos were loud and smoky and she lost forty bucks, but that was to be expected and it was kind of like Vegas – you have to at least do a _little_ gambling, just to say you did. Finally, they even took her to some of the favorite adult haunts and clubs, where it didn't matter how loud and obnoxious Jay was because there were usually at least ten other equally loud and obnoxious types there as well, so they fit right in.

They were walking her back to her hotel on her fourth and last night the area (a gay dance club, of all things – cleaner and better music to dance too than the non-gay clubs had been to in the past. Needless to say, she had a blast, and was even kind of flattered when she was hit on by two women and – surprisingly – one pretty cute guy as well, and he wasn't even a drag queen) when they pass a movie theater with brightly-colored "COMING SOON" posters covering all of the windows. Due to an early flight in the morning, they hadn't stayed out all that late – local time it was maybe midnight, which felt like 11 to her – and though the place was still lit up, they could see through the glass doors and windows that all the employees were in Closing Time mode, sweeping and vacuuming and getting the place cleaned up for the next day. One girl – high school aged, cute in a short, pixyish kind of way – is busy taking down some of the old movie posters and putting up new ones. Jay leers at her and starts making rude gestures through the glass, but her back is to them, so Bethany just rolls her eyes and keeps walking.

That is until Bob's hand shoots out and smacked her in the chest. Right over her left breast, actually, but she decides not to call him on it – first, because the puffy fabric of her winter jacket pretty much prevents any attempt to cop a feel, intentional or otherwise, and second, because Bob is staring in the complete opposite direction, oblivious to where his hand landed. Instead, he is silently enamored, staring at the poster the girl had just finished putting up. Bethany squints through the window, trying to see what all the fuss is about.

The glare from the nearest street light reflects off the glass, but by taking a half step back, she is able to discern two figures – a women in a tight white outfit with a big gun and… Ah, so that's why Bob was so excited. The other figure is a tall man in robes, wielding a light saber. It would seem the newest Star Wars movie was coming out in May.

After another few seconds of gawking, Bob turns back to her, his expression a mix between hopeful and pleading.

"What?" she asks, not quite sure yet what he's asking

He twitches a thumb over his shoulder at the poster and raises an eyebrow.

After another second or two, she finally gets it.

"No, I am _not_ going to go to Star Wars with you!"

He switches on some very effective puppy-dog eyes, and Bethany feels herself unbending a tiny bit.

"Why can't you go with Jay?" she asks plaintively, more to keep herself from giving in than anything.

He rolls his eyes, and waves his hand toward Jay, still making lewd gestures through the window behind them. _Right_ , Bethany thinks, _Jay is not exactly someone you want to be associated with at a theater._ He'd probably get them kicked out before the previews had even finished.

After another dose of puppy eyes – which seriously must qualify as a secret weapon – she gives in. "Fine, but _you_ are in charge of getting tickets – in _Illinois_ ; I'm so not flying across the country again for a damned movie – and it has to be an early enough showing that Illana can go too."

Bob nods excitedly in agreement, almost bouncing on his toes. It's only then he apparently realizes the exact placement of his hand. His eyes widen and he removes it, stuffing the offending limb in his jacket pocket with a rueful _'Um… woops?'_ kind of shrug. Then he grins gleefully and starts swishing an invisible light-saber around as they continue down the street. The added sound effects are enough to distract Jay, and he catches up with them in two long strides. "What's up with Lunchbox, is he playing that fucking stupid Jedi Knight thing again? Balls-bag, you are not a fucking Jedi – I don't care how many times you say the god-damn video tape jumped into your hand. Hey, have you seen the newest movie? I got a boner when that hot bitch Padame first came on screen. Not as the queen with the makeup and the hair – she looked kind of creepy, kind of like a living doll, so maybe. But when the wench was acting as that hand-maiden chick – heh, 'hand-maiden'... I'd _love_ to see what that bitch could do with her hands..."

"Oh, and one more thing," she says in an undertone, and she nods her head at Jay prattling on and on at their back. "He is _not_ coming with."

Bob sighs and nods in resigned agreement.

...

Slightly more than three months later on opening day, Bob shows up on her doorstep in full Obi-Won costume about eight hours before the movie is supposed to start. She isn't surprised when she notices he's holding a matching toddler-sized set of robes in one hand. She is, however, kind of surprised to discover that Jay is nowhere in sight, as promised.

She raises an eyebrow in question as she lets him in. He just smiles, and pulls a brightly colored brochure from somewhere amongst the folds of brown and beige fabric. He hands it to her with a flourish.

"A Swingers Conference! Are you _serious_?"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So, a longer chapter at last! Almost a whole 1500 words! And as someone who did, indeed, wait six hours in line at the theater for Star Wars: Attack of the Clones on opening day (I even officially skipped school for the first time in my life without being sick. When the vice principle called me on it the next day and I told him exactly why I missed, he just laughed and let me off with barely even a warning. Good Student Bonus FTW!), I just couldn't resist the opportunity to Get My Geek On and add it to the story. Also, I *had* to bring back Jay and Silent Bob somehow - what better reason than for Star Wars? ;)_
> 
> _Geeking aside and back to more author-ly notes, I totally made up the museum displays. However, I would love to go to something like "Arcade Evolution" if I ever got the chance - especially if they had a bunch of the old games hooked up that we could play._


	10. Chapter 10

A little less than halfway through Illana's fourth year, Bethany's mother comes up and insists Bethany use the opportunity to get the hell out of McHenry for a few days. Completely at loss as to what one does when one doesn't have a four year old attached to their hip anymore, she bows to Liz's authority on the subject and the two of them head to the City for a well deserved Girls Only Weekend.

They spend three days in Chicago at a pricy hotel with an attached spa, where they get smeared with high-quality herbal goop, enjoy a few hot rock massages, and have every hair from chest down systematically removed, leaving Bethany's skin so smooth and traction-less that she's almost afraid she'll slide off the spa chair she's laying on.

After they exhaust all of the spa treatments they're willing to try, they hit the shopping district and spend way too much money on clothes. With Illana growing like crazy, a good chunk of Bethany's shopping bags end up being held in reserve for her daughter, but Liz still makes her buy two outfits for herself – one of which is a sexy little black number that makes her legs look a mile long and accents what few curves she has. Liz finds a dress in an impossible shade of blue that unfairly makes her look like God's Gift to the Y Chromosome (or even the X if you swing that way), but when they try them out at some of the more popular adult haunts around the city that evening, neither one of them is at all displeased with the number of drinks and approving looks they receive.

The next morning they sleep in – or at least they _try_ to sleep in; Bethany, used to having a young daughter around who _always_ wakes up at the ass-crack of dawn, only makes it to 7:30, but considering she is usually up by 5 or earlier, she figures it still counts. Liz doesn't have that excuse, but she's always been an early riser, and besides, the plan is to spend their last day in Chicago seeing the sights and hitting some of the favorite tourist traps. They head to a promising bakery/street side café for breakfast and are on their way to the tourist district by 9.

They're walking past one of the Chicago police stations on their way to the museum when a flash of white catches Bethany's eye. Turning her head slightly, she notices two men standing at the top of the stairs, one wearing a neatly tailored suit, gold badge obvious on his belt. The other is in a bit more casual attire - a pair of light khaki pants and a blindingly white dress shirt. It's his face, though, that draws all of her attention, and suddenly every bit of the anger, fear, and helplessness she thought she had put behind her almost five years ago comes rushing back, because the other man is Bartlby, standing at the top of the stairs, shaking hands with a detective in the bright June sunlight.

She doesn't realize she has stopped until she feels Liz tug gently on her arm. "Bethany, you okay?"

She blinks, takes a breath, and plasters a fake smile on her face that she knows Liz will see right through. "Fine," she answers as she turns back to her friend. Without giving Liz a chance to disagree, she ducks her head and starts walking again, anxious to get the hell out of there before Bartlby has a chance to notice her. "I just… thought I saw someone I used to know."

Liz, bless her heart, doesn't ask, and Bethany knows she'll probably get hell for it later, but for now - with Illana safe and sound in McHenry, a grandmother to dote over her and a host of divine and human bodyguards to back her up should the need arise – she does her best to enjoy the rest of the day and forget about the fallen angel who almost destroyed the world.

So they go to the Field Museum of Natural History and the Shedd Aquarium and they see amazing things, but all along the chance encounter lurks in the back of her head and Bethany finds herself grateful that tomorrow morning they'll be back home.

...

"Why is he back, Rab?" Bethany asks two days later, sitting and crying her fears and worries out into a cup of hot chocolate while Rab dries dishes behind the bar. It doesn't matter that it is 87 degrees outside; the taste is soothing and familiar, and she can use all the comfort she can get. "He got what he wanted – he got to go home, and the world got to keep existing, and that should've been the end of it."

"There is no such thing as a true ending, Bethany," he says, drying one glass mug before moving on to the next. "Every ending is just a new beginning in disguise."

"Getting back to Heaven was all he ever wanted, and he got it. His new beginning should've been Up There, as far from me and my family as possible."

"Perhaps," he replies, putting away the last of the mugs before bracing his elbows against the bar and continuing. "But if we're talking about new beginnings, consider yours. Where would you be if Bartlby had never gotten that tip from Azreal? If he had never discovered the loophole and was instead still sitting in Wisconsin, banished from his home, forsaken by God because of an out-dated decree He made thousands of years ago?"

Trust a teacher – not to mention the Son of the aforementioned God - to go and be all smart and wise and bring a silly thing like logic into the equation. And to rip on his dad a bit in the process, too. Nice to know some things don't change.

Rab smiles, accepting her silence for the admission it was. "There are always two sides to every story, Bethany. The hard part is considering both of them before you pass any kind of judgment."

And she did see it, honest. Bartlby and Loki didn't start out bloodthirsty – though, admittedly, the Mooby thing was a bit extreme - they just wanted to get home. Until Azreal showed up with his half-truths and bitter resentment, spreading rumors and putting all of them against each other, Bethany honestly didn't wish harm on either of them. And after her conversation with Bartlby on the train, before plots were exposed and everything fell apart, she understood far too well exactly where they were coming from.

It doesn't mean she forgives them. Not yet, maybe not ever, but at least it leaves room for reasonable doubt. In court, reasonable doubt is all the jury needs to condemn a man... or to save him. She doesn't have to like it, though.

"But why come back, Rab? God let him back in; why give up Heaven when it's all you've ever wanted?"

Rab just shakes his head. "He got what he wanted, yes, but sometimes the things that we want are a far cry from the things that we need."

The door dings, emitting a family of four, and Rab lifts the gate on the bar so he can go greet them, leaving Bethany alone with her complicated thoughts and a luke-warm cup of chocolate.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I have been to the Museum of Natural History and the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago. Both are awesome places and I highly recommend you check them out if you get the chance. However, I do not know if there is an actual police station anywhere nearby either of them, I just assume there is because there's gotta be *someone* nearby to "Serve and Protect!" the poor, annoying tourist. Especially us Country Bumpkins who don't know the first thing about big cities._
> 
> _I also know nothing of the "local adult haunts", but I figure there has got to be at least a few of them. Even our Small Town Wisconsin with a population of 18,000 has a dance club, and we're about as backward-ass (in a good way) as they come. :)_   
> 


	11. Bonus: Most Holy Night, take 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I do apologize for the delay in posting. To make up for it, I'll post two chapters today. More info in the Author's Note at the end of this chapter._

Winter has fallen with vengeance, and the warmth of June – and the uncomfortable realizations involved there in – is nothing but a memory. The holiday season is in full swing, and Illana and the rest of her preschool-aged classmates end up getting recruited to be snowflakes in their church's Christmas Eve Pageant.

As no snowflake is supposed to look alike, her teacher gave them all two toddler-size rectangles of fluffy white fleece, drew a basic six-armed star the middle of each, then let the children go crazy with glue sticks, sequins, and several different colors of glitter. The glitter in particular held a certain enamorment for Illana, and Bethany is still finding the sparkly particles in her daughter's hair the night of the pageant three weeks later.

As Illana's godparents _(wow, how literal),_ Rab and Mary are there as well. Considering they have pretty much helped raise Illana from the start, it seems only fitting that they would want to attend her stage debut, even if the subject matter is probably rather tedious for them by this point. After all, who would want to relive the story of their birth over and over again?

The pageant itself is simple - a handful of middle-school students taking turns reading the well known Christmas verses from the Bible as a pair of grade school students play Mary and Joseph and act it out in traditionally subdued fashion on the stage. Illana and her group won't come out until the end, when everyone else is gathered around the manger under a bright spotlight, witnessing their future savior's humble beginning.

It's right around the time that Mary and Joseph arrive in Bethlehem that Bethany is suddenly struck by the peculiarity of the situation.

Here she is, watching the traditional Christmas Story being acted out at the front of the church, just as she has every year since she was one of the youngsters up there on the stage; just as millions of people have watched the same story on the same night in thousands of different churches all over the world for hundreds of years. Behold, the humble beginnings God's one and only Son.

In that extremely inappropriate moment amongst the soft and somber mood of the Christmas Eve service, Bethany Slone, Mother of God's one and only _daughter_ , starts to laugh.

She manages to muffle her face in her arm before the laughter can bubble up too loudly, and what emerges instead is a rather undignified squeak that might be mistaken for a petite, feminine sneeze if you don't give it much thought. A few heads turn her way, but luckily none of the looks she gets are dirty, so she takes a deep breath, manages to compose herself after a few seconds, and tries to focus once again on the stage.

It doesn't last long, however. A few minutes later, when Mary and Joseph are turned away from the first inn, Bethany has to jam her arm against her mouth again as her imagination supplies the visual of the admission clerk at the hospital the night Illana was born – complete with pink scrubs covered in cherries – in place of the boy playing the first innkeeper, somberly telling Mary that they have no room. She doesn't quite manage to be as dainty about it this time around, and several dark looks are sent her way at the choked off snort that escapes before she can muffle it against her elbow. Mary and Rab, sitting beside her in the pew, inch away from her, identical looks of 'What the hell is wrong with you, crazy woman?' on their faces.

Then, when the narrator gets to the part about Jesus being born in a stable, Bethany can't help but glance over at Rab... only to discover that he also seems vastly amused by the situation and is just barely holding back his own laughter. All hope is lost when he catches her eye, and the two of them have to get out of there very very quickly or risk bringing the wrath of the congregation down on their heads. They stumble their way out of the pew – thankfully they're at the end, so the only knees she has to trip over are Mary's, who just rolls her eyes and moves them aside so she can pass – and make a break for the stairwell.

They just barely make it out the sanctuary doors before Bethany gives in, laughing so hard that she has to sit down on the landing between upper and lower levels of the building or risk falling and breaking her neck. Rab is in worse shape – he didn't even make it to the landing, and is instead sitting about three-fourths of the way down the first set of stairs. Both of them are laughing so hard it hurts to breathe.

"Oh man, Rab," Bethany says once she's mostly gotten control of herself, wiping tears from her eyes. "I hope no one ever gets wind of the story of Illana's birth and turns it into a pageant. I wasn't half as composed as Mary was, and thank God that this day and age it's kind of illegal to turn away patients, even if there isn't much room left at the hospital. More power to you, my friend, for starting life in nothing more than a stable, but I am _extremely_ pleased that there was not a barnyard animal in site the night Illana was born."

Rab shakes his head and replies. "My dear Bethany, do not let hundreds of years of authors' license and artistic interpretation fool you. I might've been born in a stable, true, but as back then pretty much the only options you had for that sort of thing was 'inside' or 'outside', it wasn't nearly the event they've made it out to be over the years. The star and the angels, that was rather impressive, true – Father has always been a bit of a showman, after all – but don't for a moment believe the BS they try and spread about how Ma was the silent strong type. Strong, definitely, but silent? Ask anyone who knew her – that woman had quite the set of lungs and was not afraid to use them.

"And that's only half the story - she was also a bit of a linguist. There were a lot of different groups we ran across in our travels, and I learned everything I know about language from her." He chuckles fondly and continues. "I was, of course, too young to remember this happening at the time, but my Da, Joseph, claims that the night of my birth, she spit all sorts of venom in _four_ different languages at the roof of the stable, all night long. Despite what you've heard, Ma was _not_ one to sit quietly and leave her opinions unsaid. This is something I learned very early on – and was reminded of _frequently_ – every time I got in trouble as a kid. Which, again, was way more often than the folks who as wrote the Bible would leave you to believe. Why do you think it skips over my first twelve years?" he finishes with a wry smile.

Bethany laughs again, her abused stomach muscles twinging in protest; considering all the trouble Illana has gotten herself into since the whole cardinal resurrection when she was two, it is not the least bit hard to imagine some of the surprises Mary might've had to deal with when Rab was a boy.

"Rab, you have no idea how much better that makes me feel." With that, she stands and starts back up the stairs, offering him a hand as she passes so he can get to his feet as well. Together, they manage to sneak back into the sanctuary just in time to see Illana do one more snowflake twirl before all of the children in the pageant gather together with the rest of the congregation and they bring the service to a close with the traditional Christmas Eve hymn, "Silent Night."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Right, as promised, explanation time! This particular chapter is a brand-new bit of inspiration that didn't exist until just after I posted the last chapter a few weeks back, hence the delay - I had to write it before I could post it, and it did not come as easily as some of the other chapters have. I'm still not 100% pleased with how it turned out, but the truth is that this chapter is a stop-gap; a break that I kinda wanted to have between the previous chapter and the next chapter, I just couldn't think of anything to write that would fit chronologically into the story until now._
> 
> _As you may have noticed, this whole story is pretty much written as a series of One Shots - parts of a whole, but which work as Stand Alones just as well. This chapter isn't necessary, and after fussing with it several times and still not getting a final product I am entirely happy with, I almost decided not to post it. However, it does give me my desired break in focus, so post it I shall. Also, I figure there is no such thing as too much fluff, and this chapter so far seems to be one of the fluffiest. Come on, glitter and snow flakes! How much fluffier can you get without the addition of cute baby animals? ;)_  
> 


	12. Chapter 12

It's September of 2003 and a series of fall storms have brought welcome relief to the Midwest after more than two months without rain. Two weeks ago Illana started kindergarten, and Bethany is having a hard time adjusting to not having an energetic four-and-a-half year old running around all morning. The first few days, lacking anything else to do, Bethany found herself cleaning her house from top to bottom, doing stuff like dusting and mopping and folding laundry – all those little things that tend to get put on the back burner in the face of trying to keep up with a constantly growing, incredibly curious, and easily bored almost five year old with divine superpowers.

The house is practically spotless by day three, though, and that's when Bethany suddenly finds herself with a lot more free time then she is used to having, and nothing to do to fill it with. Her next project is an attempt to get caught up on the back-log of books she has been meaning to read, which is great for an hour or so, but far too sedentary after spending the last few years in almost constant motion.

Exercise is her next distraction. She had kept a pretty strict running schedule before Illana was born; not so much for the workout itself - though staying healthy is never a bad idea - but because running helped clear her head, stopped her from dwelling on all those "what ifs" and "whys" that constantly plagued her brain the rest of her waking hours, and allowed her the freedom of focusing on nothing but the next breath and the pound of her feet against the pavement.

After Illana, Bethany didn't need to run so much. She still managed it once or twice a week, true, but with the joy of finally being a mother, the opportunity to be a part of something bigger, and the boatload of self-confidence one receives when one almost single-handedly saves the world (with a little help from her friends, of course), her head was a lot happier place to be, and what had been a ritual simply became part of a routine – and occasionally an escape from the hassles of being a full time mom.

Now, though, with Illana off at school for half the day, Bethany has the option to divide her focus a bit and start pursuing activities that don't entirely revolve around her daughter. Running is comfortable and familiar, and it's an easy habit to fall back into.

Bethany checks the clock, noting that there is still three hours before she has to go pick up Illana at school, which gives her plenty of time for a run – even with the rain – and a quick shower before she has to leave.

She changes, throwing on one of those new shirt with the dry weave fabric and short running pants to keep at least some of the rain off. Then she spends a moment or two scowling at her worn out old running shoes before putting them on anyway, resigned to having wet feet in the near future as long as it means getting out of the damned house for awhile. She adds "new running shoes" to her mental shopping list and is out the door less than thirty seconds later.

The rain has backed off slightly, falling in a steady drizzle rather than the downpour it was earlier. Bethany has a brief thought about maybe not having to deal with soggy feet after all before her mind clears and is blessedly thought-free beyond the rhythm of her feet against the asphalt.

Habit takes her down the street and through Creekside Park, dipping into Indian Ridge for a half-mile or so before turning east, figuring she'll follow the river for a mile or two before looping back around to head home. The rain had picked up again, and it's only herself and the guy running toward her from the opposite direction who are stupid enough to be out running through a storm, but she doesn't mind because somewhere in the last two miles she had rediscovered the calm she used to strive for back before her life turned into a whirlwind of condescending angels, holy quests, and half-divine offspring.

Then, of course, that calm is totally and completely shattered when her leg cramps up very suddenly and very painfully, and the only thing that keeps her from falling on her face is the runner she noticed earlier passing close enough to catch her before she hits the ground.

"Woah, easy now...!" he exclaims, hands bracing her shoulders as she falls against his rather nice chest. "You okay?"

 _Ow ow ow ow ow ow._ "Fine... 'm fine," she responds, somewhere from the vicinity of his left elbow. _Ow ow ow..._ "Leg cramp." Taking advantage of her less than vertical position, she bends even more, reaching down to try and knead the cramp out of her calf with one hand while clutching his arm with the other. _Ow..._

"C'mon, there's a bench over there." He shifts his grip to better support her weight, and patiently holds her up as she hobbles and hops the ten or so feet it takes to get to the aforementioned bench.

Once there, she collapses gratefully onto the wet surface. Her right calf is one big knot of pain, and without sparing a glance for her would-be rescuer, she immediately starts trying to massage it back into some semblance of normality. In the back of her head, some tiny voice that sounds an awful lot like her mother is screaming at her about being rude, but it is totally and completely drowned out by a whole lot of " _OhmygodOW!"_

"Here, let me," the stranger says kindly, squatting in front of her and gently lifting her foot off the ground, and Bethany lets him. Considering she's already fallen on top of him and recalls, even though the haze of pain, exactly how well defined his pectoral muscles were through the wet fabric of his shirt, and knowing her shirt wasn't any drier where it pressed against his chest… well, she figures they were already half way to second base anyway.

With one hand under her calf, right above the ankle, and the other wrapped around the toe of her shoe, he lifts her foot until it is about even with the level of his heart. Then he braces his palm against the bottom of her shoe, and _pushes_ , flexing her ankle back and pulling her calf muscle tight. There are several seconds of " _ow-ow-HOLY FUCKING OW!_ " screaming through her head, but before she can protest out loud, the muscle releases, and she stares dumbly at her own leg, the sudden lack of pain almost as startling as getting the cramp in the first place.

After a few more seconds, he lets her ankle relax and releases his hold, placing her foot back on the muddy ground and standing. She immediately leans forward, rubbing her calf and doing a few experimental toe points and ankle flexes. There is barely even a twinge. She stands, still focused on her feet, bouncing around a bit and checking to see how well it holds her weight. There is a slight pull, but nothing that won't prevent her from being able to limp the remaining half-mile back home.

She smiles gleefully, wiping her face free of all the drippy strands of hair she's only just now noticing. "Wow, that is amazing! Thanks so much!"

"No problem," he responds, and she can hear the answering smile in his voice. "Just make sure you-" he cuts himself off. Wondering what caused him to stop so suddenly, she lifts her head to ask-

"...Bethany?"

-and finds herself face to face with Bartlby.

It's been one year, four months, and eleven days since a chance sighting in Chicago caused her to relive the most terrifying days of her life. It's been one year, four months, and eight days since she cried out about the unfairness of the universe to Rab, looking for sympathy and getting a politely phrased "Get over yourself and start looking at the big picture" instead. And she's trying, she really really is, but the big picture is damned hard to see when the man who almost unmade existence is staring you in the face.

Somewhere in the back of her head, she can almost hear God is laughing at her.

At least Bartlby seems to be struggling just as much as she is. He steps back, putting more space between them, and rubbing a self-conscious hand through his hair. The rain had stopped, unnoticed, at some point during the whole leg-cramp fiasco, but they were still pretty wet, and the action causes it to stick up in messy spikes. It would almost be cute if she wasn't so distracted by the whirlwind of emotions fighting for dominance in her brain.

He takes a breath, steels himself, and continues where he left off. "Just make sure you take it easy the rest of the way home, and give it a good rub down when you get there, otherwise it might tighten up again."

"Bartlby-"

"Bradly," he corrects. "It's Bradly – Brad – now." He sighs, shrugging his shoulders like he is trying to shift an invisible weight. "Bartby is... was someone else. Some _thing_ else."

And when she finally takes the time to look at him, to look beyond her personal biases and see what really lies beneath, she realizes that it's true.

Bartlby had been big. Big and powerful and barely contained within his own form, and he had been so very _angry._

Bradly isn't big; in fact, hunched in on himself like he is, he looks decidedly small. Small and tired and bent beneath the weight of history. _Human_ history.

She flinches as Azreal's voice, just as clear as if he was standing beside her once again, slices through those dark, terrifying memories. _'Demons cannot transubstantiate... but angels can.'_

Bartlby was mortal.

"Bradly," she starts again, hundreds of questions bubbling to her lips _(why did you do it, why did you give it up, why are you here, what gave you the right, why did you come back)_ but they all stop, trapped in her throat, because the Bigger Picture is annoyingly, frustratingly obvious to her now, and going back to blissful ignorance isn't an option anymore.

_Rab, you asshole, why do you always have to be so_  
_fucking right?_

"Thank you," she says instead, leaving all of those questions unasked because she knows, now, that it isn't her place to judge anyone. Especially not him.

Still reeling from the delayed reaction to a smack from the Galactic Clue Stick, it takes her a few seconds to notice that Bartl... Bradly is still standing in front of her. She flushes and continues awkwardly, hoping he didn't notice the pause. "For helping me. With the leg thing," she clarifies quickly, because she absolutely has nothing else to thank him for. Really.

He offers her a small smile, and she flashes back to six years ago and a long train ride through the dark; to booze and Barry and finding a kindred spirit in an unlikely place. He was just a normal guy then, just another human with too much on his mind and his heart, trying to find a place to belong.

"Don't mention it," he replies, tension easing out of his shoulders. "One of the bonuses to being around for awhile is that I've picked up a few things along the way. I'm glad I could help."

She remembers she rather liked Barry, and maybe the two aren't so different after all.

Before she can say anything, though, the moment passes and he straightens, turning to continue his run. "Enjoy the rest of your morning, Bethany," he finishes, and then he's gone, running down the path and out of her life.

She has a sudden, vivid visual of God smacking her in the shoulder and gesturing impatiently toward his retreating back, real enough that she stumbles forward a step, disoriented, like she'd been shoved my an invisible hand.

Okay, then. Message received.

"Bar- Brad, wait!" she shouts.

He turns back to her, obviously surprised and a little confused to hear her call after him.

She hesitates only briefly before continuing. "Buy you a cup of coffee to show my appreciation?"

He smiles again, big and bright and real, and it might just be her imagination, but she swears she sees a tiny shaft of sunlight break though the gloom behind him before it disappears again into the heavy clouds.

"Show off," she mutters to whatever meddling Powers that Be that she _knows_ are listening, and she walks forward to meet him half-way.

...

It had stopped raining, but they're both still pretty wet, and now that she isn't moving any more, it's a lot harder to ignore her cold, clammy clothing and dripping hair. Shivering slightly, she follows Brad to a near-by parking lot, where a picture-perfect early 1970s-style Pontiac Firebird gleams in the cloudy grey light.

"Wow," Bethany exclaims, pausing a moment to admire it. "Nice." She was never a big car person, but that didn't mean she couldn't appreciate a beautiful machine when it was right in front of her. There was quite a bit to admire, too - the vehicle was obviously well maintained, not a single scratch or ding that she could see, and it probably purred like a very content, very large kitten when it was running. Then she considered car's the dark, brassy gold finish, with just a hint of orange or amber somewhere in the mix, and ups her comparison from "kitten" to "lioness". The combination of pure automotive muscle paired with the fiery golden glow reminds her of hidden, torch-lit caves filled with dragon gold or desert sunsets that burn across the sand, and the effect is not lost on her. "Symbolic much?" she comments, raising her eyebrow.

He shrugs. "Degree in Ancient Greek Literature."

"Wow, seriously?" she asks, this time raising both eyebrows in surprise.

"Among others," he replies with a small smile, unlocking the door and leaning inside to grab for something from the back seat. When he comes out again, there are two towels clutched in his hand. He offers one to her, smile turning ironic. "What else was I supposed to do for 4000 years?"

"Point," she agrees.

Shivering, she accepts the towel gratefully, all thoughts of firebirds and mythology and fallen angels set aside in favor of a shield against the chill. "Thanks so much," she mumbles, voice muffled by the fluffy clean towel she has pressed against her face. Whatever detergent he uses smells pretty darned good. "You're a god send!"

She freezes for a heartbeat, and then lifts her head to peer at him. "Um..."

They stand frozen like that for about two seconds before Brad starts chuckling. Bethany, suddenly struck by the absurdity of it all, starts giggling as well, unsuccessfully trying to muffle it in the towel still pressed against the lower half of her face. Before long, they're both laughing, the stitch-in-the-side, gut-clutching kind of laughter that, once controlled, is immediately set off again just by looking at each other. Bethany hasn't laughed that long or that hard in a long time, and she's surprised at how easy it feels.

It takes a few minutes, but they finally control themselves enough that only a few quickly suppressed giggles still escape occasionally. Wrapping the towel around her shoulders, Bethany grins and nods her head in the direction Starbucks sign just visible through the trees.

"C'mon. I believe, sir, I owe you a cup of coffee."

...

Despite the gray morning, the air conditioning at the Starbucks is running full blast. They order quickly - Bethany a vanilla latte, Brad a mocha cappuccino - and retreat to one of the tables set up outside. Even with the threat of rain, it's still the warmer option, and it's not like they aren't both already soaked anyway.

He tells her that on top of a Masters in Greek Literature, he also has several medical degrees (including Athletic Science and Pediatrics), a few in Criminal Justice, two or three with "Geo" in front of the name, and several more that end in "Lit". She mentions how she is thinking about going back to school, and he helps her narrow down the list of possible majors and gives her a few suggestions on what classes to take.

They talk about work – his current job with the Chicago PD and some of the satellite towns as an Independent Consultant; her most recent promotion at the abortion clinic - classic movies, and college football. They don't talk about New Jersey, Heaven, or Illana.

They part company an hour or so later, Bradly back into the park to retrieve his car, and Bethany back home for a hot shower and a fresh change of clothes. They aren't quite friends when they take their leave of each other, but they aren't enemies anymore, either.

It's a start.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _AN - I have never been to McHenry, IL, and everything I've gleaned about the town is from the bits and pieces we saw in Dogma itself and from what I saw on the map in Google Earth, so I've used my authors prerogative to fudge a few of the details a bit. Based on what I see in Google Earth, there isn't any sort of coffee place or cafe anywhere within easy walking distance of the parks "along the river" that I mention in the story, which means that the "Starbucks" on the edge of the park probably doesn't actually exist._


	13. Chapter 13

_A month and a half or so later, I have a new chapter to upload! :)  
_

* * *

In December, Bethany's car gets broken into while she's at work. The thieves don't get much - there had been a rash of similar small-time, petty crimes in the area, so she had taken to keeping nothing more valuable than a handful of loose change a few burned CDs for the ride to work in her car at any given time - but the insurance company won't pay for the broken window unless she files a report, so after work on a Wednesday night (after asking Liz to take care of Illana for a few hours), she finds herself at the police station, filling out forms on a rickety table top with a cup of coffee at her elbow.

She's about three-fourths of the way through the paperwork and half-way through the coffee when, after two successful rescues, the less-than-sturdy styrofoam cup finally falls victim to the combined forces of gravity and the painfully uneven table legs and tips over, sending a tiny brown tsunami directly toward the police report she spent the last hour and a half filling out.

Bethany curses, snatching the pile of papers clear of the spill while simultaneously trying to stop the encroaching wave with the tiny cocktail napkin the cup had been sitting on. The attempt is less than successful, but thankfully a split-second later another two hands appear in her line of sight – a wad of paper towels in each – and together they manage to stem the flow before it has a chance to add another stain to the police station floor.

"You know, we really need to stop meeting like this," comments an amused male voice from a foot or two above her head, and she lifts her eyes to offer Bradley a rather sheepish smile. "People will start to talk."

"Yeah," she agrees with a laugh as she tries to sop up some of the mess. "Just one more stellar example of my grace and poise. I refuse to take full blame, though – this table has got to be at least as old as I am and refuses to lie straight."

"…Which would be why it was booted out of the break room years ago and offered up as a gift to the frenzied civilian masses in the waiting room," he tacks on to the end of her comment. "My sources claim that there is sound reasoning behind this decision; faced with any extended period of time sitting at what might possibly be one of the most annoying pieces of furniture ever, they figure only the people with real, serious issues to report will stick around long enough to file a complaint."

She snorts. "Thanks a lot."

"Seems to work so far. After all, I assume you're here for a legitimate reason," he adds, looking so innocent and concerned that she can't bring herself to bitch about the massive knot in her back thanks to sitting at a tilted table all night. Former angels should not be allowed to keep the innocent and angelic expressions after they humanize themselves; it gives them a completely unfair advantage over the rest of the mortals.

Instead, she sighs and stretches her legs out beneath the Table of Suffering, leaning back in the thankfully non-wobbly and actually kind of comfortable chair she had been offered when the desk sergeant directed her to a relatively quiet place to fill out her report. "Car got broken into," she admits. "Nothing serious, just a broken window, but my insurance company won't pay up until I fill out a report."

"See? That would be a legitimate reason," he replies, deadpan.

She gives him a dirty look. "Tell that to my ass – I've been sitting at this damned table for close to two hours. And you can inform the McHenry PD that they are paying my next chiropractic bill."

Brad grins, unrepentant. "Consider yourself lucky," he says cheerfully, taking one more swipe at the almost cleaned up coffee spill on the table before continuing. "For those people they _really_ don't like, there is an equally wobbly and uncomfortable chair added into the fray that makes this table seem like it was crafted by a master carpenter."

"Crude but effective, I suppose," Bethany comments, rubbing the sore spot on her back with a rueful grimace. At that, he does gives her a sympathetic look and pours her cup of coffee to replace the one that spilled – this time in a sturdy ceramic mug he digs out from one of the high cupboards over the coffee maker – which she accepts gratefully. "Whatever their reasoning, though, thanks for another save."

"My pleasure," he replies, this time with a genuine smile, pouring a second cup of coffee for himself and heading back out toward the bullpen with a friendly nod. "See you around, Bethany."

Just before he makes it to the door, though, he turns to makes one final comment, and not even years of angelic training can mask the mischievous glint in his eye. "I have to admit, though, that this save wasn't nearly as much fun as the last one. I didn't even get to see you in a wet t-shirt this time around."

With that, he makes his escape while she sputters indignantly, reaching for the nearest object she can throw at him. Bethany feels totally justified when the coffee-soaked wad of napkins hit him in the back of his head with a satisfying 'splat' just as he makes it out the doorway.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And, with the end of this chapter, I have reached the point in the story that has been a massive road block for me for over a year. Therefore, with my utmost apologies, I once again have to profess that it might be awhile before I get the *planned* next chapter ready to go - currently, it consists of a whopping five lines. On the bright side, though, it used to only be three lines, so progress is progress, right?_
> 
> _There is always hope that the muses will inspire me with another bonus chapter to fall in with the likes of "Bonus Scene" and "Most Holy Night, take 2" as well, but so far they aren't talking._


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And thus, after spending the first weekend in August in Wisconsin Dells, I was inspired! Started as another bonus scene, but it kinda morphed into a chapter all it's own. A nice long one too. Like the last bonus, not 100% pleased with this one, but I think it holds it's own. I only proof read it twice, though, so please let me know if there are errors I missed._   
> 

Illana is almost through her first year of school and Bethany wonders – not for the first time, either – if her daughter is entirely too smart for her own good.

"Hey, pumpkin, you have a good day at school?" she asks as Illana climbs into the back seat, still young enough to actually _want_ to talk about it, and Bethany is determined to enjoy that particular novelty while it last. As usual, the question set Illana off at a rapid chatter, and she lets her daughter's cheerful voice wash over her as they start the short drive back home.

"It was fun!" Illana chirps, flush with another day of learning. "We made paper flower masks – see?" – and she proudly holds up a slightly battered paper plate with bright yellow construction paper petals going all the way around the edges – "I got the sunflower, which can grow to more than _ten feet_ – that's taller than _you,_ Mama, and the birds like to eat the seeds that grow in the middle. Hamsters like them, too – Miss Peabody showed us by pouring some into Arthur's food dish, and he went all crazy and stuffed them all into his mouth at once and then he ran up into his hamster house. Then she gave us all a few to eat ourselves, and we had to crack the shell to get to the seed inside. Then there was this new boy, Jarod Rodregez – but he goes by Daz, because he says there were like five Jarods at his old school and it got too confusing – who got up in front of the class and talked about where he's from and how his mom got a new job here, so that's why he moved, and he grew up in _Hershey_ , Mom, the town where all the chocolate is made! He brought in a giant chocolate bar and shared it with all the rest of us, only he didn't have any himself because he's weird and doesn't like chocolate, but that's okay because I shared my orange with him during snack time. Then Miss Peabody read us the first chapter of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory – she said that she was going to start that instead of Charlotte's Web because it fit in so well with what we had just heard about. Then we learned about shapes from Mr. Jones and we had to count how many we saw in these pictures he gave us, which was super easy because I already know my shapes _and_ my numbers, but it was still fun coloring the pictures in, and then we learned about the states and how we lived in Illinois and how Wisconsin is another state and how it's the closest one to where we live – aside from Illinois, of course, because we live here."

All of this is said in one giant rush, and Bethany once again takes a moment to marvel at her daughter's lung capacity.

"You're learning about geography already? Aren't you a little young for that stuff?" Of course, all Bethany can remember of Kindergarten is learning colors and numbers, which probably didn't take an entire year. States might've been in there somewhere.

Illana looks at her like she is stupid. "You're never too young to learn something new, Mom."

"I stand corrected," Bethany replies solemnly, holding back a smile. If Illana's giving her attitude at age five, she can only imagine how much worse it'll be during her teenage years. "So what else did you learn about Wisconsin today?"

Satisfied for the time being that her mother was not, in fact, and idiot, Illana happily continued. "It used to be covered by really tall trees – all of the northern states did, Illinois too – but now most of them have been cut down and it's just covered by regular trees and lots of farms. Also, they get around four or five feet of snow in the wintertime – even more than we do, we only get two or three usually. But! Even with all of the snow, they still have this _huge_ water park that is open in the summertime – one of the biggest in the _whole country_ , Mommy, and it's called Noah's Ark. Like from the _Bible_!"

"It's isn't exactly like the one from the Bible, sweetie," Bethany protests.

Illana rolls her eyes. "Duh, Mom, I know that; I saw the pictures on the internet. Anyway, we should still go there because it's still kinda from the Bible, so it'd be like I was learning about our history, you know? And there's other stuff to do, too – I want to ride on a duck-" Bethany can almost hear Illana equate 'duck' with 'giant bath toy' as she says it "-and they have a carriage with horses you can go on that'll teach me more about gee…ogg...ra…fee and rocks and stuff, and then there's this museum with a big glass ball with lightning in it that makes everyone's hair stand up and we should go and we should take Liz with us. And Rab and Mary should be invited, but I dunno if they'll be able to come because the restaurant is going to be super busy that week. And Rufus, too, but he'll say no because he doesn't swim and the only screaming child he likes to be around is me."

Bethany sighs, any hope of derailing Illana from this particular train-of-thought quickly fading . "I haven't said yes yet, you know."

"But you're going to. Trust me, Mama, I know these things," her daughter replies, looking as pure and innocent as an angel – something that might've been more effective before Bethany had met a few.

"Remind me to give you the spiel about only using your powers for good one of these days, because I'm pretty sure 'manipulation' does not fall under that category," she replies, pulling into their driveway.

Illana's pout is about as honest as her innocent angel look, but Bethany lets herself be convinced. Shaking her head and smiling, she turns the car off and meets her daughter's eyes in the rearview mirror. "Okay, Miss Foresight… so when will we be going?"

She jumps about a foot into the air when the passenger side door suddenly opens and Metatron gets in. "July, mid-month, and if we go earlier in the week instead of the weekend, it won't be near as busy."

" _Geezes Christ_ , don't _do_ that!" Bethany screeches, rubbing her head where she bumped it on the ceiling and ignoring Illana as she laughs at her from the back seat. "Why are you so interested anyway," she grumps.

"Oh, please, you aren't even going to have a bump to show for it, so stop complaining," he replies. "And I need a bloody vacation, that's why. With the horror in Yelwa, the ongoing terrorist attacks of all those crazy religious zealots in the Middle East, the mess in Chechnya, the Madrid train wreck, and all the other _bleedin' events_ you apes get up to that the media in this country doesn't see fit to inform you of, I am in dire need of a reminder or two on why we shouldn't pull another _giant fucking flood_ on your collective arse and save ourselves eons of trouble!"

Even Illana is shocked into silence at the outburst, and that's saying something.

"Sooo…" Bethany squeaks before the silence in the car can get any thicker. "Noah's Ark?"

Metatron shrugs, smoothing down the front of his silk shirt, calm and collected once again. "Name caught my eye when it first opened up, and I've always wanted to go. God gets his yearly skeeball fix, so it's about damned time I got my own day off."

With that, he blinks back out again, almost as if he wasn't there in the first place.

"Mom," Illana whispers about thirty seconds later, like she's afraid someone might overhear. "Poppy said a bad word."

Bethany, still not entirely sure the last few minutes actually happened, has to take a few seconds before she is capable of a coherent reply.

"I think Poppy is having a bad millennium, so we'll let it slide just this once."

...

Rufus responds to their invitation almost word for word as Illana predicted; Rab and Mary do in fact have a crazy week at the restaurant because it's the same week of the Woodstock Folk Festival, so they turn down the invitation as well. Liz accepts, and the three of them pile into a car well stocked with road trip munchies, lots of sun screen, and enough books and puzzles to amuse Illana for the three hour drive.

Metatron meets them at the entrance to the park, and Bethany does a double take when she sees what he is wearing. Despite the fact that they were going to spend the entire day at a water park, it's hard to get her brain to link the man dressed in a pair of loose swim trunks and a well-worn t-shirt with 'Sky-Bowl Championships, 1519' written across the front with the all seeing, all knowing, always perfectly pressed and proper angel she'd known for the last six years. Even when he was changing Illana's diapers or had spit-up on his sleeve, Bethany had never seen Metatron as anything less than otherworldly, kind of like one views the stars at night – beautiful and out of reach, but it's nice to know they're there. Seeing him look like a normal 30 or 40-something and, well, _hot_ … it just does not compute.

Illana, however, doesn't seem to have the same setback. "Poppy!" she shrieks gleefully, launching herself into his arms as soon as she sees him.

"'Ello, love," he replies, scooping her up with ease, and Bethany's ovaries do a weird sort of flip flop. Yeah, okay, so he's an angel and it's never going to happen, even if it were physically possible, but _damn_!

Then he makes her pay for his ticket - "Angels don't get paid squat, so fork it over" – and the brief moment of insanity passes. Significantly poorer than when she arrived ($36 per ticket will do that to you), she gives in to curiosity and asks him about the t-shirt just as they're entering the park.

"Ten pin," he replies, matter-of-fact, "been playing it for centuries. We really do bowl during lightning storms, too – what better time to fill up the heavens with an awful lot of racket?"

...

"You know, Wisconsin really isn't half bad," Bethany comments several hours later while she and Metatron take a break from the sunshine and the swimming, leaning against a table beneath one of the picnic shelters and waiting for Liz and Illana to return from their trip to the nearest concession stand. Bethany is sunburned and tired, but otherwise surprisingly cheerful considering she spent the day chasing her daughter around a massive water park. She's also relaxed enough to get a bit whimsical, something she never used to do before Illana came along. "Quite pretty, actually – on the drive up, I noticed that these guys seem pretty big on maintaining the landscape rather than clogging it up with tall buildings and fossil fuel emissions. I suppose the winter is kind of long, but with all these trees, rolling hills, and scenic cliffs, I imagine the place has its charms even when there's three feet of snow on the ground. Eternity here doesn't seem like that big a punishment."

"You say that now, but wait until the mosquitoes come out," Metatron replies, dead-pan. Bethany elbows him in the side, and he rolls his eyes. "Of course it's not that bad – God was vengeful, not sadistic. Granted, He had His temper tantrums, but ultimately He takes care of His own, even if they do piss Him off. Heaven, for your information, is climate-controlled; Wisconsin is about as extreme as you can get when it comes to climate variation. He figured months of subzero temperatures in the winter and weeks of humid, uncomfortable heat every summer was punishment enough for Bartlby and Loki after spending all of their former existence within Heaven's pearly gates. It took them less than a century to adapt before they were just as hearty and thick-blooded as the crazy Northern types who spend their entire lives up here – who actually take _pride_ in the climate extremes, of all things."

He looks around in mild distain as a small boy runs past in a pair of Green Bay Packer swim trunks, his mother and older sister trailing behind with their own Packer paraphernalia, fair skin turning slightly pink under the July sunshine. A second or two later, another family passes, this time with a plate of the deep fried cheese chunks that the area is famous for. He looks down his nose at the display of blatant Wisconsinisim, but continues. "Despite their unhealthy obsession with dairy products and sporting teams, there are far worse places to spend your eternity.

"Besides, as you were lucky enough to discover the hard way," he adds after a moment, condescending angel persona firmly back in place, "they were free to move around just as any human does. They can and did travel all over the world – they had an eternity to kill, after all. They _chose_ to come back, over and over again; I can only assume they were just as crazy as the locals by the time Azreal went and made a mess of things."

Liz and Illana return at that point, bearing their spoils, just in time to catch the last sentence. "The locals might be crazy, but damned if don't have something going with the whole cheese thing," Liz comments, proudly wielding a steaming container of the same golden brown nougats Metatron had disdained a few moments before. "Have you _tried_ these things? I can practically feel my arteries clogging up just looking at them, but having a heart attack at age 45 might very well be worth it," she adds, popping another one into her mouth.

Metatron merely snorts at her observation before graciously accepting half of the ham and cheese sub Illana hands him. "Thank you, my dear," he says, giving Bethany the stink eye as she swoops in on Liz and the promise of deep fried bliss. "Good thing you got your Da's good sense on _some_ things, otherwise you'd be as wide as you are tall by this point."

Bethany doesn't argue, just snatches the last cheese curd and dances swiftly out of reach before Liz can retaliate.

Liz lets out an annoyed "hmph" and tosses the empty cardboard container into a nearby wastebasket before turning to pointedly wipe her greasy fingers on Bethany's towel.

"You angels wouldn't know indulgence even if it bit you in the ass," she pouts, leaning against the table. "Don't you guys ever do anything for fun?"

"Babylon was a _blast_ , but then God got a bit miffed that we were spending all our time there drinking - before He banned us from alcohol, that is - and taking bets on all those little wars you lot got up to instead of helping out around Heaven, so He torched the place. After that, we mostly got our jollies messing with the prophets. Samuel almost punched me once because I kept up the 'Pester Eli to get Sam out of bed' charade a bit too long. Good times, those," Metatron replies, reminiscent. "Anyway, I'm here, aren't I?" he finishes.

Liz's eyes light up with mischief at that last part, and she gives him an almost sultry smile. "You are indeed."

Then, because sometime she is a snot and just can't resist poking at the sleeping lion just to see what kind of reaction she can get, she leans in closer to him, stopping just shy of pressing her body against his side . "Score one more for the locals, M," she purrs, "because damned if it isn't nice to see you in a swimming suit."

Metatron straightens, putting space between them. Looking down his long nose at her and wrapping dignity around him like a cloak, he replies. "Madam, as you well know, even if I had the desire to pursue such frivolous human activities – which I do not – I lack the goods needed to return such affections."

Liz gives him one last lingering look, paying particular attention to how the damp t-shirt hugs the rather well-defined muscles of his arms and shoulders. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean a gal can't enjoy the view."

With that last parting comment, she sling her towel around her waist like a miniskirt and holds a hand out to Illana. "C'mon, shrimp, let's go down the Anaconda again."

"Yeah!" Illana yells, hopping off the bench and grabbing the offered hand in one motion. Liz gives the angel a final blatant head-to-toe assessment, then the two of them head toward the rest of the sunburned summer masses waiting to go on the giant waterslide. As she's passing behind him, Metatron jumps, eyes wide in shock (and maybe just a wee bit of smug satisfaction, but that could've been her imagination), and Bethany is torn between laughing at his expression or hiding her face in shame, because only Liz would have the balls to goose the Voice of God.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _As one of those "crazy locals", I just couldn't resist puffing up my beloved state a bit - especially after that barb from the movie about Wisconsin being worse than Hell. In truth, Wisconsin is kind of awesome...though I suppose I might be biased. ;)_
> 
>  
> 
> _State pride aside, the news stories Metatron referred to were real, and you can find a brief summary of the news worthy events for April/May 2004 here (again, sans the spaces):_  
>  _http : /www ./ events/ date/ 2004/april_
> 
>  
> 
> _Lastly, the Bible verses and stories mentioned:_  
>  _Revelations 3:18-19, Fall of Babylon_  
>  _1 Samuel 3:1-21, the Lord calls Samuel_


	15. Extrospection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Seven lines of text that took me two years to figure out. Sorry for the length, but after having my ass handed to me over and over again, I figured in this case less might be more._

The first time Brad meets Illana, it's purely by chance.

It's autumn, and the candy-bright leaves along the river reflect cheerfully in the almost mirror smooth water of the Fox. The park is full of other people enjoying the warm temperatures and the lovely colors, but for now the stretch of trail they walk along is almost empty.

Almost, except for one man on a lonely park bench that the autumn sunshine can't quite seem to reach.

"He's already forgiven you, you know," Illana says, and the tone sounds far too serious for such a young voice. "It's kind of what He does."

Brad smiles at her, soft and sweet like she's the most amazing thing he has ever seen. "I know He has, Princess." The smile fades a bit, tinged with sadness, and he lowers his eyes. Elbows on his knees, head bowed over his tightly clasped hands, he continues. "Now, though, I have to figure out how to forgive myself."

Illana doesn't say anything else, just steps forward to rests her tiny hands on top of his, and the air around them seems just a little clearer, the atmosphere a little brighter than it had been before.

In a little pocket of peace, gold leaves drifting down around them like rain, Bethany decides that maybe it wasn't just chance after all.


	16. Chapter 16

A few weeks after Illana starts first grade, she comes home with a new friend.

Bethany is in the kitchen slicing apples for Illana's after-school snack when she hears the front door open, followed by a cheerfully yelled, "Mom, guess what Daz and I found at recess!"

A few seconds later her daughter runs in, flush with excitement and carrying a shoebox she most certainly didn't have when she left that morning. The cover is off before she even comes to a full stop, and Bethany shrieks and jumps behind a chair when she is suddenly nose to nose with a giant snake.

"GOOD GOD, GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME!" she screeches, feeling blindly for the broom leaning on the wall behind her and holding it in front of her like a spear.

Illana looks at her like she's nuts. The snake kind of does too, for that matter, flicking its tongue at her curiously.

"It is just a fox snake, Mommy," Illana replies slowly, like one might talk to a particularly dense child. "They eat mice and toads, not Moms."

"It's a snake!" Bethany responds, less shrilly this time but still with significant hysteria behind the words. "They're slithery and slimy and DISGUSTING!"

Illana scowls at her. "They are not! She's smooth and warm and perfectly friendly. Here, see for yourself," she adds, stepping closer.

Bethany shrieks again, hiding behind the kitchen island this time.

Illana rolls her eyes at her mother's crazy antics, but otherwise keeps her distance. The snake, for its part, seems unconcerned with exactly how close it is to getting broomed into submission and starts to wind its way up Illana's arm to her shoulder. Bethany is torn between jumping forward to rip the thing off her poor, vulnerable daughter and stomping on it, or maintaining her position so as to not startle it into biting Illana's face off. Maintaining her position wins – the snake seems pretty mellow, after all. She also really doesn't want to have to touch it.

Instead, she grits her teeth, trying to sound reasonable. "Snakes bite, sweetie, and wild animals shouldn't be cooped up in cardboard boxes – why don't you go let your new friend back outside?"

"Snakes only bite when they're scared or hungry," Illana reminds her matter-of-factly. "And fox snakes tend to like being in small spaces, but you're right, we should totally go to the pet store and get her a terrarium."

Bethany tries very hard not to start shouting again – she's already sacrificed enough dignity for one afternoon. She grabs blindly at one last argument, hoping her daughter's Biblical genealogy might convince her that Snakes Are Bad. "Honey, you remember what happened to Eve in the Garden?"

Illana scoffs, an expression that was becoming annoyingly common on her daughter's face. "If Eve didn't eat that fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, all of us would be running around naked and stupid. Lucifer, the poopy-head, didn't have to take the form of a snake when he tricked her – he should've taken something nasty like a centipede or a fat, gross slug because no one likes those things anyway – but he did and he was a jerk about it and now snakes have a bad name. And I'm going to name her Angel just to spite him," she replies with a determined foot-stomp, tossing a dirty glare down toward the floor while she does.

"And anyway," she continues after a second or two of devil-taunting, "I'm almost seven years old, Mom - Zoe only just turned six, and _she_ got a hamster for her birthday, so I am old enough to have a pet of my own," she points out. "You know, to learn how to be responsible and stuff. Besides, she likes how I taste-smell."

Bethany blinks. "Zoe likes how you smell?"

Illana rolls her eyes again. "No, _Mom,"_ she says, 'are you stupid' voice firmly back in place. _"Angel_ does. It's her way of saying she likes me, and even if I let her go back outside, she'd probably only make a den out in our yard somewhere, and _then_ you wouldn't know when or where she would show up. At least if we get her a big terrarium you'll know where she is, right?"

Defeated, Bethany flops against the counter behind her, releasing the death-grip on the broom handle and letting her head fall back against the kitchen cabinets. "Great," she mutters darkly, "my daughter is a freaking parslemouth."

Illana shrugs carefully so as to not displace the newly dubbed 'Angel,' giving the snake a gentle stroke on its head while she does. "Parselmouths only talk to snakes." Then she moves forward in a flash - rather snake-like herself - to grab Bethany's hand and start pulling her toward the front entryway, before she really even has a chance to react. "C'mon, Mom, PetSmart has the best deals on snake supplies - I checked on the computer after school today - and I want to get back before Dora comes on."

Bethany wonders - briefly, as she lets Illana drag her toward the door - when, exactly, she lost her authority as the Matriarch of this family. Then she considers who her family actually consists of, and realizes that she probably never really had the upper-hand to begin with.

...

They're half-way to PetCo, with Angel safely stashed back in her cardboard box and Illana in the back seat, counting out all her carefully horded allowances and birthday money from the last year, when Illana's off-hand comment actually registers in her brain.

"Wait a minute, what do you mean ' _ONLY_ talks to snakes'? !"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one. It didn't come as easily as some of the earlier bits, and I had a pretty busy October and November. Hopefully it doesn't disappoint, and I must say, I am EXTREMELY envious of Illana because I've wanted a pet snake for years. Alas, Northern Winters are not kind to tropical reptiles (I had my heart set on a boa or a python), and so far none of the pine snakes native to the area have sought me out. (http:/dnr.wi.gov/eek/critte/reptile/foxsnake.htm if you're curious about them)
> 
> I also make no promises that I'll get the next part out any sooner. I had really hoped that, once I got through the Illana/Bradly meeting that had snubbed me for the better part of two years, I would be able to get back into the writing groove that propelled me pretty quickly through the first ten chapters. So far, however, the muse is still being a bit difficult.


	17. Chapter 17

Whenever she has a bit of time, Bethany still likes to run. She doesn’t really have a set route or a set time, but she still tries to get out at least three or four times a week. Over the years she has come to appreciate the quiet time that is all her own when she can let her mind go empty beyond the rhythm of her feet against the pavement. Kind of her own form of meditation.

The five mile round-trip down and around the park and back continues to be one of her favorites, though if anyone asks her why she isn’t entirely sure she’d be able to tell them. Yeah, getting rescued in the middle of a storm by a hot guy is the kind of memory most woman would be glad to have, but the meeting was so mixed up with a whirlwind of emotions and a whole lot of unpleasant history that she still isn’t sure how to feel about it two years later. She’s torn between hoping to see Brad again and trying out the Almost Friendship thing between them, or just wishing life would go back to black and white and she didn’t have to deal with all this shades of gray crap.

And if wishes were horses, she’d be the Rodeo Queen and have a few million in thoroughbred investments by this point. _How about you just get over yourself and go for a damned run already, Bethany?_

Taking her own advice, she does just that, pulling on a jogging jacket to ward against the January chill and following her feet toward Creekside Park.

The run goes without incident. She waves at a few of the locals out for their own runs, pointedly doesn’t stop to catch her breath at a particular bench, and heads back home with a firm admonishment to herself that she is _not_ disappointed. Not even a little bit. She even believes it when takes a detour past an extremely busy Candle on the way back, where an equally busy Rab takes the time to toss her a smile and a freshly baked blueberry muffin before shooing her back outside and on her way again. Feeling completely justified – after all, she did just run the better part of five miles, which means the muffin is virtually fat-free – she cheerfully breaks off a chunk and munches the rest of the way to the house.

She’s about three blocks away and halfway through her muffin when she notices a golden Firebird parked on the other side of the street ahead of her, glowing brightly in the thin January light. A few seconds later, the front door of the house it is parked in front of opens and Bradly steps out, a vaguely familiar women with hunched shoulders and silver-streaked dark hair at his side. He says something to her, and she nods slowly, swiping a quick hand across her eyes. Then her shoulders straighten – less like she is trying to be tall and proud, and more like the burden that weighs them down is something she refuses to let crush her – and she responds with a few words of her own and a soft, sad smile, leaning up to give him a quick hug of thanks before they part again and go their separate ways.

The woman turns to retreat to the warmth and security of her home, and Brad picks his way slowly down the snowy front stairs and back toward his vehicle. He takes a moment when reaches it, leaning forward to brace his arms on the driver-side door, letting his head fall down to hang between his shoulders. He stays like that for a few heartbeats, bowed beneath the same invisible weight she noticed that first chance meeting on the banks of a rainy river almost two and a half years before. Then the moment passes and he stands upright again, one hand going to his jacket pocket while a sigh she’s too far away to hear fogs the air in front of his face.

With the rest of the street empty, no one else is around to notice as Brad fumble his keys while unlocking the door he had been leaning against... Or see him slam his fist into the solid steel frame hard enough and loud enough that Bethany almost can hear the bones snapping from half a block away.

She continues on at a sedate pace, closing the few hundred feet between them within a minute or two. Brad, lost in his own little world, doesn't even notice her until she speaks.

"I know a few classic car fanatics that would tear you a new one if they knew what you just did," she comments. "Until two minutes ago, I would’ve counted you among them."

“Yeah,” Brad’s smile is bitter as he glares at the roof of his Firebird. “I suppose there are better ways to try and deal with anger management.”

Bethany shrugs. “I’ve seen worse temper tantrums.” Softening her voice sympathetically, she continues. “Bad day?”

“One of the worst.” He sighs again, giving his vehicle an affectionate pat of apology with his injured hand before recalling how he had just smashed it against a quarter inch steel door panel – not exactly the kind of material that is forgiving on soft human flesh. With a muttered “ow”, he cradles it against his chest and turns to lean his back against the door instead.

Nodding in a short gesture toward the house he just left, he continues. “A couple of years ago their teenage daughter, Aubry, went missing. I was called in to consult on the case.”

“Aubry Day,” Bethany responds, realizing suddenly why the woman looked so familiar. “I remember the news coverage, how her mom was all over the local stations, even a few national ones, asking for her safe return. Did you...” she starts, but lets the rest of the question drift off unsaid into the icy air.

“Yeah,” Brad admits, answering the question anyway, shoulders tight and face drawn and sad. “Yeah, we found her last night.”

Oh.

Bethany doesn’t speak for awhile, tied and twisted up within her own thoughts and emotions, grieving for a child she never even knew.

“Why you?” she asks gently, filling the silence between them. “You’re only a consultant. Wasn’t there anyone else to tell them?”

“I volunteered.” His eyes drop from Day’s front door, glaring balefully at the snowy ground in front of him for a few seconds before he turns to her, the first time he’s met her eyes since they started talking. “It was my first case after… well, everything. I thought with my history, I might be able to help on a slightly more personal level.”

He turns back toward the house, ancient eyes in a human face far too young to have seen so much. “Aubry’s birth father died when she was little, and David Day, her step dad, works for a shipping company. He’s out of town a lot, though he dropped everything and rushed back as soon as he heard she was missing. Those first few hours, though, before he got back... I was the one holding her mother’s hand as the police asked her questions; the one who called her almost every day for six years to tell her we were still looking, that we hadn’t given up.” He shakes his head bitterly, dropping his eyes back to the dirty snow. “For all the good it did in the end.”

Bethany’s heart goes out to him; him and Aubry Day’s family and the strong, determined woman who stood up straight beneath the burden of knowledge that her daughter isn’t ever going to come home. _If it had been Illana…_

She stops the thought before it takes root; that way lies nothing but helplessness and fear, neither of which she is willing to revisit now or ever again.

Instead, she focuses on man in front of her, offering what comfort she can. “I think you did far more good than you give yourself credit for,” she responds. “I’m not Diana Day; I won’t even pretend to understand what kind of hurt and heartache she and her family are going through right now. But I am a mother, and I can tell you with absolute conviction – it’s better than _not knowing._ ”

She steps closer, stuffing the forgotten muffin bag into her pocket so she can take his uninjured hand in both of hers in entreaty. “You’re a good man, Bradly Jones,” she says, meaning every word. “Aubry Day can finally be put to rest, thanks to you and everyone who gave so much to try and find her.”

Then she tugs gently on his hand before releasing it, bobbing her head to the side in a ‘this way’ gesture. “Now come on, I’m only three blocks away and it’s not like you can drive much until you get your hand checked out anyway.” _If all else fails, distract and redirect._

“And here, have a muffin,” she adds as an afterthought, handing him the remains of her post-run treat – no one in their right mind would turn down one of Mary’s homemade blueberry muffins, even one that’s already half gone – so she can scoop some snow into the bag it was in. The bag is paper and probably won’t last long as far as an ice pack goes, but his hand has already swollen to half again its normal size and something is better than nothing. She also grabs his keys from where they landed under the car while she’s down there.

The muffin is, in fact, gone by the time she stands up, and she is pleased to notice that Brad looks a little more animated, though the expression on his face is replaced with mild concern when he notices the keys to his Firebird in her hand. She rolls her eyes, reaching over to re-lock the driver’s side before disregarding all the guidelines about Personal Space and dumping the keys unceremoniously back into his jacket pocket. “Boys and their toys,” she mutters darkly, and he has the grace to look a bit chagrined as she steps back.

“Sorry,” he says with a small, tired smile. “No one has driven Del except me since I rescued her from the scrap yard in ’82. Guess I’m a bit over protective.”

“Del?” she asks, curious despite her tendency to silently scoff at those who name inanimate objects. Brad doesn’t really seem the type to do it lightly, and she can guess how he probably spent a lot of time and finances rebuilding the vehicle from the ground up after the rescue.

“Short for Endellion. Means ‘Fire Soul,’” he replies, accepting the quick-n-dirty ice pack she lays across his hand with a wince.

“Very fitting,” she agrees. Then she gives him a gentle shove, pushing him in the direction she had been going before the unplanned foray into First Aid. “Now start walking; the longer it takes to get there, the longer it’ll be before you get the Good Meds that will make all your pain go away and go a long way toward convicting you’re floating on Cloud Nine.”

...

The lighter mood doesn’t last, though, and the short walk is spent in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts, lamenting on the frailty of human life. Bethany’s no closer to figuring it out when they arrive at her front door a few minutes later, and she doubts Brad is, either.

She doesn’t break the silence, merely heads directly to the kitchen to start preparing a more appropriate ice pack while Brad finds his way to their over-stuffed couch. She really isn’t in the mood to play good hostess, and he doesn’t seem like he really expects it, collapsing onto the couch without ceremony, head against the back and eyes closed, exhaustion and pain etched in every line around them.

Bethany hasn’t even made it as far as the fridge when she hears the front door open again, followed by the pitter-patter of small, sneakered feet making time down the hallway. Not two seconds later, Illana arrives in the kitchen, pink-faced from the cold and bright-eyed with excitement.

“Mom, Daz got a new Monster Truck and it’s _remote controlled_ and it can be used _outside_ and drive through water and dirt and everything, can I go--”

She stops mid-sentence, noticing Brad for the first time since she ran in. “Oh, hi Brad. What are you--?”

She pauses again, brown eyes going distant and far away. She finds her way to the couch without seeing, sitting gracefully in the space beside him.

“She’s up there, right now, and she's happy,” she tells him, eyes still focused on a world neither of them can see. “She's with her grandparents; they helped raise her, but they died when she was eleven and she never stopped missing them. Her Dad, too, who died when she was three and who she is finally getting to know.

“She misses the rest of her family – her mom and her step dad and her little brother and sister – but she knows they love her, and they know she loves them, and that’s the important thing.”

Her eyes refocus, and she directs her young/old gaze at Bradley again. “She doesn’t have any regrets, and she is the kind of person who would be very annoyed if she knew you were blaming yourself for something you had no control over. You can’t save everyone.”

He can’t hold her gaze, and Bethany doesn’t blame him. Illana in full-on Divine Offspring Mode is a lot to handle, even after years of experience. He focuses on his hands instead, whispering so quietly she almost doesn’t hear. “That won’t stop me from trying.”

Illana scoffs and rolls her eyes, a gesture that would not be at all misplaced on an exasperated teenager. Coming from a six (“almost seven, Mom!”) year old, though, it is quite the accomplishment. “Spending your days in regret is a waste of a perfectly good lifetime,” she scolds, slapping her hand over his injured one and not being at all gentle about it. A split-second later, Bradly yelps in pain and Bethany can hear bones and joints snapping back in place all the way across the room. Laying on of the hands complete, Illana continues on like she never even stopped speaking in the first place. “You only have the one now; don’t ruin it.”

With that, she hops off the couch and returns to her initial target. “So, Mom, can I walk over to Daz’s and play for a bit?” she asks.

“Yeah, shrimpkin,” she replies, giving her daughter a warm smile, “go ahead. Just make sure you’re home before dark.”

“Thanks, Mom!” Illana chirps, giving her a quick hug around the waist before disappearing back into the hallway. A few seconds later, Bethany hears the front door open and close again, the only sound in the slightly bewildered silence that is left after her daughter’s delve into the diviner side of her heritage.

Bradley looks absolutely gob-smacked, and she has to hide a grin behind the dish cloth still in her hands. Without saying anything, she continues on her initial quest, pushing ‘ice’ button on the door of the fridge and trapping a cluster of cubes within the folds of the cloth. Illana may have set the bones, but she didn’t do anything about the swelling or the bruises, obviously believing Brad deserves to suffer at least a little for the idiot actions that got him a broken hand in the first place.

Soft, icy package in hand, she takes the spot that Illana just vacated on the couch, laying her burden gently on top of the much abused appendage.

“She is very blunt, isn’t she?” Brad asks a minute or two later, after he has gotten over his initial shock.

Bethany grins. “As a sledgehammer. I blame her Old Man.”

...

Later that night, she invites him to join them for dinner at Rab's restaurant. She doesn't know what to expect, but whatever it is, she gets the impression that Brad is a part of her life now, and hiding their friendship from everyone else would be doomed to failure anyway.

Rab takes one look at her dinner companion for the evening, mutters, "It's about damned time," just loud enough for her to hear, before offering Brad a warm, welcoming smile. "Welcome home, son."

Bethany sighs internally, resigned to the fact that she is always going to be the last person to figure out what twists and turns her life is going to take. Free will is one thing, but the Bible is somewhat less clear on the subject of Peer Pressure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been pushing the muses into overtime trying to get another chapter up for you all before the holidays. Still kind of 'eh' on the final result, but I figure it passes well enough.:)
> 
> Happy Holidays, everyone!


	18. Bonus: Ceasefire with the Serpent

Bethany did not like snakes. Angel, in that instinctual way that all animals have, seemed to realize this. Unlike most animals, however, she also seemed to take great pleasure in making Bethany scream and dance around like a 50s house wife.

After the second time she popped out of the washing machine just as Bethany was about to start a load of laundry, the third time she stretched herself out across the kitchen floor and narrowly missed Death By Broom or Thrown Crockery, and one particularly memorable occasion when she decided to take a nap in Bethany's shower, Bethany finally decided to call truce.

"I'll make you a deal," Bethany states while they both nurses their wounds after the shower incident. Ignoring the small voice in her head that was convinced she was crazy talking to an animal as if it were a person, she continues. “You stop popping up in unexpected places - how the hell do you get out of your terrarium so damn often anyway? - and I’ll stop shrieking like a banshee and throwing things every time I see you. It’ll be safer for both of us, trust me on this,” she adds, rubbing at the fresh new bruise on her elbow.

Angel is obviously not convinced - and no doubt still kind of miffed about the half-bottle of shampoo that landed on her back - so Bethany tries a new angle. "Leave off on the scare tactics and I'll drill a hole in the wall so you can get outside anytime you please."

Angel perks up at that, and her tongue flicks out a few times in agreement. Then, to Bethany’s complete and total shock, she offers her long, slithery tail, for all the world like a human offering to shake hands to seal the deal.

“Oh my god,” Bethany responds, burying her face in her hands as if Not Seeing It will make the situation less unreal. It doesn’t work, of course, and when she peeks through her fingers, Angel is still there on her bed spread, tail extended. “This has got to be the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me.”

Snakes don’t have expressions, but Angel’s still seems to say ‘You played a key role in preventing existence from being un-made, you’re raising a half-divine daughter who can heal with a touch, occasionally see the future, and understand animals, and you count among your closest friends your great-times-a-thousand-Great Uncle who also happens to be God’s one and only son, a member of the highest choir of angels and God’s second in command, and a reformed fallen angel _who you saved the world from in the first place_ , and you think THIS is weird?’

Well, when you put it like that...

“Touché,” Bethany agrees, and accepts the preoffered tail with only the slightest hesitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and kind of ridiculous, but I figure something is better than nothing, especially since I haven't updated in awhile. :)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The next few chapters happen all at once, back-to-back over the course of a few days instead of the months or years that usually pass between chapters._

Late spring 2006, not long before schools are set to let out for the summer, Bethany sets up some advisory meetings with the heads of the College of Technology at the University of Illinois in Chicago. Carnegie had given her a useless art degree, but she was hoping her minors in Computer and Library science might make up for it.

The meeting goes well, and Bethany leaves feeling like she might actually have some sort of Long Term Plan. It would be a few years, of course; Illana wasn't exactly old enough yet to really consider going to school an hour and a half away, and the last thing Bethany wanted to do was move, but it was still a Plan. The first few years would probably be at the more local Crystal Community College anyway; the school itself didn't exactly have stellar educational reviews, but if nothing else it would get her out of the house, and it would be an opportunity to get some of the general requirements out of the way while still being able to raise her daughter without going crazy from the stress. So she hoped, at least.

It's early afternoon when she walks back out into the late May sunshine. Rab and Mary had volunteered to see to Illana after she got done with school for the day, so there was no need to rush back home. She stands just outside the doors for a few minutes, leaning on the low wall around the entryway, watching the cars drive past while trying to decide what she wanted to do next. Mid-contemplation, her stomach growls loudly, making the decision for her.

She sees various fast food joints looming through the Chicago haze, but none of them sound particularly appetizing, so she calls Brad and asks him if he wants to meet for a late lunch. He enthusiastically agrees, giving her directions to the station he was working at this month; apparently there is a rather fantastic deli right down the street from it. Considering driving in Chicago is two parts fanatically defensive and three parts bullying your way through traffic, she is all too happy for the excuse to park the car in nice secure parking lot and hoof it a few blocks if it means putting off the death-defying automotive stunts for another hour or two.

She pulls in just as Brad is leaving the building, deep in discussion with a tall, wiry detective with bleach blond hair. They were followed closely by - and Bethany had to blink several times just to make sure she wasn't imagining things - an unbelievably handsome gentlemen in a bright, fire-engine red Canadian Mountie uniform.

The two of them finish whatever they were talking about and the detective and the Mountie head toward a classic GTO on the other side of the parking lot while Brad makes his way to where she stands next to the bumper of her midnight blue Chevy Tracker (she may be a mom, but that doesn't mean she can't pretend she's still cool. Or at least kind of cute and sporty). She raises her eyebrow as soon as he's close enough to appreciate it. "A Canadian Mountie in Chicago. Should I even ask?"

He replies, utterly dead-pan, with "Officially, he's a liaison from the Canadian Consult who offers his assistance when he can." The dead-pan cracks a bit as he allows a small smile to escape at the absurdity. "Unofficially, he's actually been partnered up with one of their top detectives for the last ten years or so. Or... two of them who went by the same name, I'm still not entirely clear on that."

"But _Chicago_?" She just can't seem to wrap her brain around it.

He chuckles. "A bit unorthodox, definitely, but the two of them have a surprisingly good track record. Come on, I'll tell you more about it once I have food in front of me. I'm starving."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Fraser, Ray K and the GTO are not mine, alas (though wouldn't it be nice if they were? ;) ). Instead they belong to Paul Haggis, Paul Gross, and the rest of the Alliance Atlantis staff and production crew._


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This chapter lives up to its T rating for violence and a some gore._

They're having lunch down town when the sound of gunshots and broken glass shatter the normal sounds of traffic and the city. Brad is out the door in a heartbeat, Bethany no more than a split second behind.

By the time they clear the restaurant, it's already over, and Bethany has a brief glimpse of three shapes in bold colors running away from the scene, before her vision zeros in on the silent, unmoving figure collapsed on the sidewalk on the other side of the street.

Time blinks out, and the next thing she knows, she's on her knees next to the girl… _Oh, god, so young_ … with Brad on the other side. He pulls off his shirt, wadding it up and pressing it against the growing red stain on the girl's chest … _she's just a kid_ ... while Bethany holds tight to her hand, knuckles white, murmuring meaningless words of comfort into her ear… _"It's okay, we're here, we've got you now, shhh, we've got you…"_

"AMBULANCE! Somebody call a fucking ambulance!" Brad shouts, keeping pressure on the wound, but the red stain keeps spreading and Bethany isn't sure it'll be enough and there is so much blood.

Brad is talking now, doing the soothing murmuring voice while he looks into the girl's terrified eyes. "Hold on, honey, just hold on. Help is on the way, you just got to hang in there, okay?" but Bethany knows that he knows, too, that it won't be enough, because the girl's dark skin is turning ashen, and her breathing is getting more labored.

"No… No, come on! Stay with me … NO! DON'T DO THIS! COME ON, STAY WITH ME!" Brad is shouting again, pressing down against the girl's chest like he can physically force the blood to stop flowing from her body, but his once white shirt is soaked crimson and there are tears streaming down his face, and her eyes get dimmer and dimmer and she is fading beneath their hands.

"No… no… Please, God, don't do this to me…" he sobs, but it's too late, and Bethany is crying now, too, cradling the girl's cold, lifeless hand between her own.

...

Her name was Aleesha Roberts. Twenty-three years old, paying her way through college by working three jobs and going to night classes. She was her daddy's pride and joy, the first one in the family to finish school. It had only been two weeks before, after five years, she had finally gotten her degree in Nursing. All she ever wanted to do was help people.

It's the funeral that is the hardest. You'd think it would be the aftermath, the arrival of the police and the dizzying crowd and the flashing lights and the confusion, answering the same questions over and over again – "There were three of them…they were running, I didn't see anyone's face… Yes, there might've been gang colors…no, I told you, I couldn't see their face…she was bleeding…we tried to save her…" – but that all passes in a soft focus, a haze, because the only thing she can see is the red stain on Brad's shirt and the blood on her hands, even though the EMT's washed it away hours ago.

But no, it's the funeral that hurts the most, taking place three days later - long enough that the shock has long worn off and left nothing behind but the gut-wrenching pain and guilt of a young, vibrant life suddenly cut short, and the giant, aching hole left behind in the lives of their loved ones

And a raw, hollow emptiness in a pair of strangers who just happened to be in the right place at the wrong time.

(There wasn't a right time. There was never even enough time to begin with. Maybe if she keeps telling herself this, she'll start believing it.)

The morning is a sharp contrast to the haze of desolation that surrounds the mourners; bright crystal blue skies that not even the Chicago smog is able to dull. Standing to the left of the pastor, hands on Illana's shoulders, facing the stoic, painful mask presented by Albert Roberts as he watches them lower his daughter's casket into the earth, Bethany wishes for a little rain because the morning sunlight is almost too bright to bear in the midst of all that grief.

Brad stands beside them, a churning shadow of sadness and guilt and hurt. She doesn't even realize when she reaches over to grab his hand, because she hurts inside, too, and needs something to hold onto to keep her from falling off a world that has suddenly turned on its side again, throwing everything out of balance.

She doesn't realize it, that is, until his hand meets hers half-way, wrapping her fingers in a white-knuckle grip.

She's never been rock climbing, but she wonders if this is what it feels like when your foot slips five hundred feet up, but the lifeline holds and keeps you from falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _AN - I'm not usually one who needs soundtracks when I write, but while searching for a song to use in the next part, I ran across "The Golden City" by City of Gold, the refrain of which seemed the absolute perfect accompaniment for these two scenes._


	21. Chapter 21

After the service, Bethany almost invites Brad to come home with them, because the last few days were in the running for some of the worst of her life, and no one should be alone after something like that. More than anything, she wants to go home, surround herself with her friends and her family and hide from the world for awhile, because right now the world kind of sucked. She was sore and her heart hurt, all hollow and aching. And she knew that whatever she felt, Brad felt ten times worse, only he didn't have a family to fill the emptiness. After all that had happened, the least she could do was share her own.

She's opening her mouth to invite him, but she doesn't get the chance. Illana speaks up first.

"Stay with us," Illana asks, holding his hand and looking up at him, eyes wide and damp and bright. Just a human little girl, now, one who has been drawn into something harsh and sad and so much bigger than she is.

It surprises her for a split second. You wouldn't think it was possible, knowing herself and exactly how frail and human she is, and knowing that Illana is her daughter just as much as she is God's. Sometimes, though, with all the tricks and the foresight and the attitude, all the wisdom beyond her years and her divine heritage and the absolute assurance of being her Father's daughter, Bethany forgets that Illana is still part human, too.

In that moment, she's all human. Small and fragile, just a scared child who wants nothing more than for the grownups in her life to tell her that everything will be okay.

"Please," she asks again, and it would take a harder man then Bradly – hell, maybe even a harder angel than Bartlby – to turn away.

"Yeah, _Alahsika_ ," he replies, his own eyes suspiciously damp. "Yeah, of course I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Alahsikha (All-ah-zee-ka) is my own term, taken from the Hebrew Nesikha (princess) and Islamic/Arabic Allah (God). As it is my own term, my own translation is "Princess of God" or "God's Princess."_


	22. Chapter 22

Without conscious thought, Bethany parks the car in front of The Candle in the Window when they get back to McHenry, bypassing the house entirely. In this, at least, she can be sure; home is where the heart is, and today more than anything they needed the kind of comfort only it could provide – to be surrounded by people in a place filled with happiness and life and all the warm smells of home.

Illana, clinging to her hand as they walked the short distance between the car and the restaurant, immediately lets go and launches herself at Rab as soon as they make it through the door. Rab scoops up the seven-year-old with ease, despite the extra inches and weight she has added on in the two years since the last time did something like that.

Meeting Bethany's eyes through the tangle of his goddaughter's hair, he doesn't say anything, just nods his head toward an empty booth and carries Illana with him into the backroom he uses for big groups or private reservations. Knowing that Illana is in good hands, and probably with the only person in the world who can truly understand what she's going through, Bethany collapses into the booth Rab indicated. Brad slides into the seat across from her with only slightly more grace, slumping against the back of the bench once he's seated. He looks exhausted and world-worn and cracked around the edges – exactly how Bethany feels. She imagines they make quite the picture; or at least she would if she wasn't so weary that even her imagination is hard pressed to do much of anything right now.

Less than thirty seconds pass before Mary is at their side, two steaming mugs of hot cocoa in hand. Bethany wishes it were something stronger, but it's barely noon and there's an unopened bottle of brandy waiting for her at home anyway, so she supposes she can settle for hot chocolate for now.

After setting the over-full mugs carefully in the center of the table, Mary offers both of them a sympathetic shoulder squeeze before moving off to attend the other customers. Bethany is grateful for her concern. She's even more grateful for her silence.

It's summertime outside, but she wraps her icy hands around the warm mug and hopes the Candle can melt some of the winter that has seeped into her bones.

...

"I know she's up in Heaven, and that Father and Poppy are taking care of her now, and I know she's okay – _I know it!"_ Illana exclaims from where she sits, curled up in Rab's lap. "But everyone she left behind down here is hurting so much and Mommy is all cracked and scooped out and hollow, and Brad – who was finally starting to feel better and fix himself! – is broken again and all sharp edges and needles and sunburn. They hurt so much, Rab, and I want to make it better, but I don't know how."

"Ah, my precious baby girl," Rab says, holding Illana close and kissing her hair. "It's not all about water to wine and healing the physical hurts. We're all children of God, but those of us who actually have the divine spirit running through our veins seem to hurt the most. We feel everything, can't turn it off."

Illana sniffles into his chest, snuggling closer. "Can you show me how to make them whole again, Uncle Rab?"

"I'm sorry, child, I can't. There are some things not even we can do. But you know what? We can be with them, we can listen if they want to talk or distract them from their hurt with funny stories if they don't. We can show them how much we love them, and try and remind them of what they still have."

"We can do things that make them happy," Illana suggests timidly.

"And I'd say that would be the perfect place to start," Rab agrees with a smile.

"I can draw Mommy pictures and clean my room," Illana continues. "Well, maybe not _that_ happy, but I can always put my toys away and talk to her about everything we do in school. And I can tell Brad he has a cool car and ask him to tell me stories about all the historical people he met and if George Washington really had wooden teeth."

Rab laughs. "The poor man did have the most rotten luck with dental health." He shakes his head in bemusement before adding onto the list. "And I can pour hot chocolate down your mom's throat and take on the menace she has for a daughter" – he tickles her as he says it, getting a small giggle in response –"for a day or two so she can have a bit of time to herself. And I can compare my list of historical people with Brad's – bet that would be real interesting – and maybe drag him out every once in awhile to do manly things like drink beer and watch football and belch."

"Eeeeew!" Illana squeals delightedly, because every seven-year-old knows that burping and belching and other bodily functions will never fail to be disgustingly awesome. She uncurls a bit, relaxing in the circle of his arms.

He smiles again, glad to get any sort of reaction out of her that isn't more tears. "We can't make everything better again, sweetheart. But we can make it easier, and eventually they'll get better on their own. I promise. It just takes time."

...

Sometime later, after their mugs are empty and the lunch crowd is long gone, Bethany has to ask, even if she already knows the answer.

"You okay?"

"No," he replies, pushing the empty mug aside with a heavy sigh. "Not even a little bit."

Across the room, a door opens and Illana comes out, Rab following closely behind. She runs toward the booth they're sitting in once she spots them, sliding in and curling herself against Bethany's side. Bethany automatically lifts her arm and holds her daughter close.

"Me neither," Illana answers for her, voice muffled and eyes red. She sniffles, wiping the tear tracks off her face with the back of one hand before snuggling into the soft fabric of Bethany's blouse.

"No, pumpkin," Bethany agrees, rubbing soothing circles where her hand rests against Illana's shoulder. "We are definitely not okay."

She stays like that a moment, wrapped around her daughter. Then she lifts her head, spine stiffening with resolve. "We aren't okay. But we will be."

...

...

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I am less than pleased with how how this chapter turned out - the ending bit in particular - but I'm hoping that I'm just being my usual nit-pick about the details. Also, I figure it was kind of important to see Bethany and co dealing as best they can, even if the words to convey it were being kind of stubborn._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _On the up side, after three chapters of angst, we'll pretty much be back to the more traditional fluff and humor from here on out unless Serendipity or her cohorts inspire me with new and exciting ways to torment everyone. On the down side, we're also back to the sporadic updates as I try and fill in some of the blanks that still exist in the story._


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sorry for such a long delay since the last update. Blame the muses._

In August, Jarod's ("'Daz,' please, Ms. B. My parents only call me Jarod when I'm in trouble.") mom surprises him with a Birthday Weekend in Chicago to celebrate his eighth year of life. He is allowed to invite two friends to join the fun, which means Illana gets a very exited phone call about thirty seconds after the big announcement. Bethany, who had been in on the secret for a week, already has her bag packed and ready to go. Less than an hour later, Teresa Rodregaz's Jeep Cherokee is idling in their driveway while Bethany demands one last hug and kiss from her daughter, and an enthusiastic high five from both Daz and Rodney Miller, another friend of Daz and Illana, who got the coveted third invitation.

She waves at them as they pull away, standing on the front stoop until the Jeep turns at the corner and disappears from view.

Thirty seconds after that, Bethany makes an enthusiastic phone call of her own.

"You good to go?" she asks when Liz picks up on the other end.

"Always," Liz agrees, sounding very much like the cat who just got all the cream. "The shrimp on her way yet?"

"They just left," Bethany replies, feeling kind of feline herself. "Meet you at the Candle in ten?"

"I'll be there."

Bethany hits the disconnect button, not even bothering to fully hang up the phone before she punches in another number. Mary picks up almost before the first ring is even complete.

"Game time?" she asks, not even bothering to ask who it is.

"Game time," Bethany agrees. "We'll be there in ten minutes. You ready?"

"Oh, honey, I ain't never been more ready in my entire life, and that's saying something."

Bethany grins and hangs up the phone. She does a quick scan of the house, making sure all lights are off and Angel has water in her dish, before she grabs her own suitcase from where she had it stashed in the hall closet. Locking the door behind her, she hops into her car and makes her way to the Candle.

While Illana gets a weekend with water parks and Navy Pier and LEGOLAND, Bethany and her friends are going to have some fun of their own in the City.

Operation Foxy has officially begun.

...

Bethany is almost done with her second drink, holding claim on their tiny little table at the first adult club of the night while Liz and Mary visit the ladies room. Lacking companions at the moment, she amuses herself by doing a little people watching. Sipping her drink, she finds her entertainment in the form of two very obviously inebriated young blonds as they stalk (well, lurch) after a gentleman with a rather nice backside.

Oblivious to his pursuers, the man stations himself at the end of the bar, right next to the wall. Their pray neatly cornered, the two harpies attack. The poor sap never even sees it coming.

She's even more amused when the poor sap in question turns out to be one Bradly Jones, and she almost snorts her vodka cranberry up her nose when one of the blonds tries to lean in seductively and ends up practically falling in his lap instead. Brad, for his part, looks like he is seriously considering crawling up onto the bar to try and get away from them.

She spends several minutes snickering into her drink and watching him flounder, clumsily trying to rebuff the two girls who were utterly refusing to give up their advantage, before she allows that a rescue might be in order before the drunken duet tarnish his virtue.

 **Going to stage a rescue** , she texts Liz (Mary had purposely left her phone at home, her logic being that the harder she is to get a hold of, the less likely Rab will call her with some emergency at the restaurant), **meet you outside in five.**

She hasn't even managed to gather her bag and stand before her phone beeps a response. **?**  


**Explain later** , she replies, wishing there was an emoticon for 'smirk.' She settles for devil horns and makes her way through the crowd to save the damsel in distress.

"I'm two minutes late and already you're moving on to greener pastures?" she asks without any real mirth, pushing between the two blonds to snake arm around Brad's waist.

A brief flicker of surprise crosses his face at the contact, but he hides it well and is quick to take advantage of the story she hands him. "Hey, honey!" he responds, possibly a bit more cheerfully than necessary, lifting an arm to wrap it around her shoulders. Not that either of the girls – god, are they even old enough to drink yet? – would likely notice.

"Hey yourself," she mock scolds. "Reservations are at 9:30, we better get going if we don't want them to give our table away," she continues.

"Reservations, right," he agrees, setting his almost untouched drink back on the bar with significantly less grace than he's usually capable of, sloshing some onto the counter in the process. Then he turns back to Tweedle Ditz and Tweedle Diva, releasing Bethany long enough to give them both an extremely awkward goodbye. "Well, ladies, lovely to meet you," he continues, shaking their hands so heartily that Tweedle Ditz actually looks like she might fall over when he just as suddenly lets go, "but I must be off. Have a lovely evening." Then he latches right back onto Bethany and all but drags her away toward the nearest exit.

"Real smooth, Cyrano," she tells him once they've made it out the door, not even bothering to hide her smirk.

"I know, I panicked!" he replies, still kind of wide-eyed at such a near miss. "They were just so...so..."

"Grabby?" Bethany offers.

"Yes!"

Chuckling, she replies, "You'd think after the first thousand years or so, you would've learned how to handle drunken bimbos throwing themselves at you."

It could've just been the light, but his face takes on a decidedly pink tinge. "I don't get out much," he mumbles.

Taking decided glee in being the teaser instead of the teasee, Bethany doesn't let up. "Wasn't it a Grigori's job to watch us lowly mortals to try and figure out how we work?"

Impossibly, his face gets even redder. "Geez, you make me sound like a voyeur."

Since there is so much blood flowing into his face that she's starting to worry a bit about his other appendages, she lets the (way too easy) opening slide. "Uh-huh..." she says instead, keeping the two syllables as non-committal as she can, though she doubts she entirely succeeds.

He is, however, saved from death-by-mortification as at that moment they round corner and Bethany notices Liz and Mary hovering close to the club entrance, eyes scanning up and down the sidewalk as they search her out. She waves briefly to get their attention, and once spotted, she can't pass up the opportunity to give him one final tease before heading off.

"Get used to it, hot stuff," she smirks, just buzzed enough to throw decorum to the wind. "If you're going to go out into public, be prepared for some fawning." Then, inspired by the memory of Liz and Metatron last summer at the water park, she takes advantage of the arm she never bothered to remove from around his waist and slides her hand down to squeeze the backside she had so admired earlier.

Before he has a chance to do anything more than jump in surprise, though, she's sauntering away to meet her two friends by the front door of the club. Smug and extremely pleased with her victory, Bethany doesn't bother looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Authors Note - Metatron refers to Bartlby as a 'Grigori' in the movie. The conversation is as follows:_
> 
>  
> 
> Metatron: "And he was good at what he did. But one day [Loki] refused to bear Gods wrath any longer."
> 
> Bethany: "Why?"
> 
> Metatron: "He listened to his friend, a Grigori by the name of Bartlby."
> 
> Bethany: "Grigori?"
> 
> Metatron: "One of the choirs of angels. They're called "Watchers"; guess what they do?"
> 
>  
> 
> _After researching it a bit, I don't know if he technically qualified as a Grigori until *after* he had fallen, and I am also pretty sure lusting after human women had nothing to do with it (angels are ill equipped, remember?) but hey, that's the movie business for you. But, because that is what is in the film, that is the terminology I'm using._
> 
>  
> 
> For more info on the Biblical Grigori, here's a link:  
> www. archangels-and-angels/ misc/grigori. html  
> (copy/paste and remove the spaces. I still haven't figured out how to post an actual link on here without FF dot Net eating it).


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This is another bonus scene that took on a life of its own. Kinda meh on the result, but I figure who doesn't love a good hangover story, right? I've also hit a bit of a road block on the next part, so this is an update for the sake of updating, especially for you all who have been with me from the beginning – almost a year and a half ago now! Thanks for sticking with me and my months-long absences, guys. :)_

The first thing she thinks when she wakes up is, "Oh, god, I think I'm going to throw up." She then does precisely that. Thankfully, whoever is in the room with her is well prepared for that outcome, and a pair of hands magically appear in front of her holding a garbage can.

Several heaves later, her head is screaming at her and her stomach is still teetering on the edge of rebellion, even though there is nothing left to throw up. It is quite possibly the most miserable she has ever felt in her life.

A minute or two passes, and she finally finds the energy to flop onto her back with a groan. It takes her another ten seconds or so to realize that this is not her bed. She risks cracking open an eye. Nope, not her ceiling, either.

"…The hell?" someone croaks. It takes her another moment to figure out the wrecked, rusty scrape of a voice is her own.

The hands reappear, this time holding a glass of water and a bottle of Aspirin. "It's a story best left until you're sober," another voice replies. The hands, paired with the voice, finally give her some ghost of a clue, though they mostly just serve to confuse her even more.

"Brad?" she asks. "What are you doing here? What's going on?", though it comes out more "Mmoher 'oin n?" Ow, her head. She pauses again, fighting to think through the racket the gnomes are making with their little pick-axes as they pound them into her skull. "Wh'r Liz? Mary?"

"They're fine - or at least as find as you are, in any case - sleeping it off in the guest bedroom. As for the rest, I'll tell you later. Here, take these," he continues quietly, handing her the glass and opening the pill bottle to pour three Aspirin into her empty palm. She does as directed, handing the glass and bottle back once she finishes, only then noticing that he's wearing sleep clothes – a t-shirt and a pair of loose pajama pants. She'd oogle, except her head hurts and her mouth tastes like vomit and if she's going to oogle, she'd rather not have the memory tainted by such things.

He leans over to place both the glass and the pain medication within easy reach on the bedside table. The movement causes a soft smell to waft across her much abused senses, soothing her head and quieting her still queasy stomach. Miserable and quite possibly still a teeny bit drunk – just how many drinks did she have anyway? Her mind is rather frighteningly blank after the third club and a very strong Chocolate Cake – the words bypass her brain entirely and come straight out her mouth.

"Wow, you smell really good."

"What?" he asks, completely thrown for the loop. She had, after all, just vomited into his waste basket.

"You smell good," she slurs again. "All woodsy and fresh." She know she'll probably be horrified once she's sober, but she still has some small hope that she won't remember any of this in the morning.

Brad looks confused – it is _adorable_ on him, so cute and innocent – but it fades after a moment. Apparently, fallen or not, angels still have a gift for language. Or the drunken parody thereof.

"Oh, it's teak wood," he replies after a delicate sniff of his shirt sleeve. "Spent a few decades in India back around the turn of the century, and one of the locals gave me a really beautiful handcarved teak wardrobe after I helped his family. It's one of the few things I haven't quite been able to give up over the years, despite being a behemoth of a thing that's a pain in the ass to move."

"Smells aamaaaazing," she agrees, drawing out the vowels a bit when she momentarily forgets what she was trying to say. "ou're a goo' guy, Jonesy."

He smiles... he should smile more, he has such a nice one... and says "I'm glad you approve. Now go back to sleep, we'll talk more in the morning.

"M'kay," and she's unconscious again before he gets to the door.

…

Morning dawns bright and clear. Really really bright and clear. Painfully so, in fact, and Bethany once again contemplates throwing up. There doesn't appear to be any magical hands around to hold onto the garbage can for her, though, so she holds off.

A bird chirps outside the open window. She wants to shoot it. Traffic sounds, a horn blares, and the angry gnomes in her head start picking away at her skull again. She buries her head in a pillow that is not her own and wants to cry.

When her head feels slightly less delicate and the smell of brewing coffee has filled the room, she cautiously lifts the pillow. She spies both the Aspirin and water still sitting on the bedside table, as well as a worn out University of Chicago t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants sitting beside them. She swallows another three pills, grabs the sweats, and then stumbles off to find a bathroom.

Luckily, she finds one just across the hall. She locks herself in, peels off her slightly ripe and now thoroughly wrinkled cocktail dress, and dashes cold water across her face until she feels more human.

Ten minutes later, aside from the pounding in her head, she's about as functional as she's going to get before coffee. Lacking a tooth brush or toothpaste, she mooches some of the mouthwash sitting beside the sink and pulls on the sweats, folding up her dress and, unsure what else to do with it, carrying it with her to the kitchen. There she find and equally bedraggled Liz and Mary slumped across the table, nursing a steaming mug each, and an entirely too cheerful Brad standing by the coffee pot pouring another.

"Morning!" he says brightly, just loud enough to send her head ringing again. A chorus of groans and a pathetic whine of 'must you?' from the vicinity of Mary's forearm only serve to make him smirk as Bethany lurches over to join her friends, but then he sets the freshly filled mug down in front of her and she holds off on the plotting of his embarrassing and painful demise for a few more minutes at least.

She's only mildly surprised to discover after the first sip that he has fixed her coffee exactly the way she likes it – plenty of cream and just a bit of sugar. He did, after all, spend a few thousand years watching and living among humans, and the last seven or so working as a consultant for the Chicago PD. It's kind of his job to notice things. A peek into Liz (blacker than sin) and Mary's (tea with a dash of milk) mugs only confirm this.

A few moments of blissful quiet pass before Liz speaks up, voice not dissimilar to that of a creaky hinge in desperate need of some oil. "So, not that I'm complaining or anything," she croaks, "but why are we sitting in your kitchen and not at our hotel?"

Brad joins them, his own coffee in hand. "It would seem that you three, in your highly, _highly_ inebriated state last night, forgot which hotel you were staying at, and you got slappy when the nice security guard at Sound-Bar tried to check your bags for hotel keys," he replies cheerfully, taking entirely too much pleasure in their suffering. "A buddy of mine from the department who'd witnessed our little fiasco earlier – it'll be weeks until they find something else to gossip about, by the way, so thanks ever so much for that – called me up to come get you. Did you realize that you three are also very grabby drunks? Liz tried to put her hand down my pants at least twice."

Liz looks unashamed at that revelation. Mary snorts into her tea. Bethany just shrugs and says, "Told you."

"ANYWAY," Brad continues just a bit too loudly, refusing to give up the upper hand, "as I was unable to get anything useful about the hotel out of you, either, I brought you home to sleep it off here. Figured it was a bit more comfortable than lock-up, and it's not like either of the bedrooms here get much use these days anyway. Hell, having three lovely, drunken women in them last night has pretty much been the highlight of my decade, even if I wasn't in either bed with them."

Never one to let innuendo pass her by, Liz waves a wobbly, vaguely accusing finger in his direction. "You, my friend, need to get out more."

He sighs, woe-be-gone. "Tried. Ended up getting jumped by five overly grabby women and had the police called on me."

Mary speaks up for the first time, shifting just enough so her mouth is clear of her arm. "Any other man would consider that night a raving success."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sound-Bar is an actual night club in Chicago. Whether or not it existed yet in 2006ish when this chapter supposedly takes place is another matter entirely. The only research I did involved Googleing "best clubs and bars in Chicago" and visiting their website only long enough to determine that I didn't hate whatever song was playing in the background and that it had lots of strobey lights and lasers to make it sufficiently 'wild' enough to fit in with my Brain Image of a place where something like this might happen. You are welcome to call me on it, but I'll just smile and flash you my Writers License. ;)_


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _One more post-Girls Weekend story, sorry. It's an Important Conversation that I've been trying to figure out how to fit into the story for over a year now without much luck, so I really couldn't turn it down when opportunity presented itself. Even so, I ended up rewriting the thing at least once and possibly twice, so hopefully it doesn't disappoint._  
>     
>  _Secondly, and most importantly of all - I now have a beta for BiD! Thanks again, Rory, you rock! Any other mistakes left over are all my own._

She returned the borrowed sweats the next afternoon while Mary and Liz did a bit of shopping. She wasn't sure he would be home – it was Sunday, but crime stops for no one and she assumed that consultants were pretty much always on call the same as cops were.

Today, though, it looked like crime decided to take a day off, or at least the morning, because Brad is standing on the stairs that lead up to his building when she pulls in, winding a beige athletic wrap around the wrist of a very sheepish looking youth.

He waves as she walks up, pinning the wrap in place and admonishing the boy, "No more street hockey without wrist guards, or next time it'll be a break, not just a bruise."

"Aw, c'mon, Brad! Those things mess with my slap-shot!"

"And if you break your wrist, there won't be any more slap-shots. Guards, or I tell your grandmother you haven't been wearing them for the last two weeks."

"Fine," he agrees with a huff.

"I knew I could make you see reason," Brad says cheerfully. "Upstairs, ice, now. Take it easy the rest of today and tomorrow morning, and you should be back in the game in a day or two."

"Alright, alright. Thanks, _mom_ ," he snarks back, grabbing the hockey stick that had been leaning against the railing and heading up into the building.

"Friend of yours?" Bethany asks

"Fellow tenant, Danny. His family moved into the apartment next door to mine around the same time I did. Mom works all day, and Danny and his sisters live in constant fear of their Gran. She asks me to keep an eye on them while she goes out and runs errands every once in awhile."

"Aww, you're just a big softy at heart. Here, I brought you something." She hands him a plastic grocery bag of freshly washed laundry.

"Thanks. I was rather partial to that sweatshirt." He takes the offered bag, setting it on the stairs and sitting down beside it.

"Thank _you_ ," she replies earnestly, joining him. "I'm not sure if I ever got around to saying it yesterday."

He shrugs. "Seemed the least I could do, especially after you gave me an out earlier in the evening."

"The Tweedle Twins were awful persistent, I noticed. You looked about ready to scale the walls."

"Never have I missed having wings more."

His eyes go distant at that. After a moment or two, curiosity gets the better of her. "Hey, you okay in there?"

"Fine," he says, giving her a small smile. "It just hit me, you know? After everything I've done, all I put you through. All that history, and you still do things like returning a few pairs of worn out sweats in person, grab some lunch on a whim, or swoop to the rescue when I'm fighting off a hoard of drunken blonds."

"Two drunken blonds does not qualify as a hoard. You would need at least three or four for that."

He smiles again, but doesn't take the opening. "It's just... you always seem to be there to help me pick up the pieces when my world gets turned upside down, over and over again. Even after all I put you through, you're still… there."

"The feeling is mutual, you know. You've saved my ass plenty of times, yesterday being the latest example."

He shakes his head. "Little things, sure. Kept you from braining yourself on a paved path, or saved you from an extra hour or two of paperwork at the police station—"

"As the one who would've done the braining or had to sit at that damned table for a minute longer," she interrupts, "I am extremely grateful. Don't sell yourself short."

"There's a difference, though. I never saved you from anything you really needed saving from. Even Friday night, you would've been fine on your own. You may have ended up at the police station, sleeping it off in a jail cell, but that's it. Falling down drunk, the three of you at the mercy of the Chicago night life, I would still always, always put my money on you.

"That day in the park," he continues, "it would've been so easy to just keep on running. Two people in the right place at the right time, but nothing else. Strangers for as long as we could delude ourselves into believing it at the best; enemies with too much history stretched between them to ignore at the worst. It would've been so _easy_ to keep on running. But you didn't. You were just… there. And you have been ever since. I'm not worth that kind of forgiveness."

"And I'm not sure I'm worth that kind of faith," she argues. "It's been a long road, and we all make mistakes. That's the nature of being human. But if I've learned one thing over the last few years, it's this - It isn't our place to judge each others worth."

"And that's the nature of being more than human," Brad shoots back. "Most people live their whole lives without realizing that one truth."

"Took me awhile to figure it out, too," she admits. "And I'd be lying if I said didn't hate you when I first found out you were back."

"You hid it very well if that's the case. Not many people would buy coffee for someone they hate, not without spitting in it first or something, which I'm pretty sure I would've noticed." He pauses, giving her a suspicious look. "You didn't pay off one of the Starbucks staff to spit in my coffee, did you?"

"No, of course not, you idiot," Bethany laughs. "Spitting is so juvenile; I would've poured Tabasco sauce in it instead."

"I definitely would've noticed something like that. Why didn't you?"

"Lucky for you, by the time we ran into each other at the park – literally – I'd already had a few months to accept the fact that you were back. I didn't like it, and the whole casting off of your immortal coil was news to me, but I knew."

"How long?" he asks

"Maybe a year or so, or a little more," she tells him. "Found out purely by chance - or possibly divine intervention, knowing my life. I can't really tell anymore. Liz had dragged me to Chicago for a Girls Only weekend, and we just happened to be walking by the police station on our way to the aquarium when I saw you walk out the front door, talking with one of their detectives."

"And… you didn't confront me?" He seems honestly bewildered. "Didn't walk up and punch me in the fucking face?"

She shrugged. "I was scared. Terrified, even. I had beaten you once and it almost killed me. Did kill me," she adds, voice soft, and she tries not to notice when he flinches away.

Shaking herself free of the memory before it can do any more damage, she continues. "Walking away seemed like the best option, so that's what I did. I'd save my anger for when I was safe back home and knew there was a host of human and divine powers to stand between you, me, and my daughter."

He looks away, watching the cars pass them by on the street. "I… don't think I could've held myself back, had our positions been reversed."

"Yeah, well, terror is a pretty good motivator sometimes."

"Still," he says, eyes distant. "It's one thing to walk away. It's quite another to welcome someone you have every right to hate with... well, not with open arms, really; I know we were both walking on egg shells around each other those first few meetings, but still. Coffee is not the kind of thing people tend to offer when they come face to face with their biggest fears, or someone who almost destroyed the world. Unless that coffee is laced with arsenic. There's more to that story than just foreknowledge of my decent from on high."

"You just answered your own question – there is always more to the story. I can't take full credit for figuring it out. I was every bit as angry and pissed off as you expected when I first saw you, every bit as terrified about what your sudden reappearance would mean for this wonderful, amazing life I had. I had already died for that life once, and I wasn't going to give it up – not to you, not to God, not to anyone. Lacking anyone else to blame, I was quick to scream and cry and take that anger out on Rab, who heard it all out calm and cool and totally unruffled like the damn saint he kind of is."

"And then?"

Bethany lets out a puffy, self-sacrificing sigh. "And then, in two sentences, he took all my righteous anger and indignation, folded it neatly, and handed it back to me with an air of 'There are bigger things in this life than your hurt feelings. Grow the fuck up.'"

"I'm not sure I really understand," Brad admits, looking kind of lost.

"There is always more to the story, more than one side or the other. Like the small, selfish human I am, all I was seeing was my side – all the running I did, all the fighting, all the finding out things about myself that I really wished I hadn't. All the demons I had to face and the two fallen angels trying to kill me just because, generations ago, some ancestor of mine shared a tiny bit of genetic material with the freaking Messiah. It was all 'me' and 'I' and 'myself', my own self-interest leaving me blind to the bigger picture."

She pauses a moment, choosing her words carefully.

"For three days I chased you halfway across the country. Three days of terror and demons and blood, and it was worth _every single second_ , because without them, I wouldn't have Illana."

She lets that sink in for a moment before continuing. "This amazing, wonderful life I have, the one I was so terrified of losing... It wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for _you_ , and the choices you made. That is what I was really thanking you for that day in the park, and why you will always have a place in my life - in _our_ life. Because you were already a part of it, before it even started."

Then she wraps her arms around his waist and kisses him.

"You're crazy," he says when they come up for air, hands warm against her back. "All of you are fucking insane."

"Pretty much," she agrees, but that's all she has time to admit before he's kissing her again. As she isn't in any hurry to get him to stop, she figures it's worth the interruption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Authors Note:_  
>  _Like I said, I ended up rewriting this one a few times because it was all Stuff That Needed To Be Said and I didn't want to mess it up and make it come off either too sappy or too serious - more than anything, I want this story's first focus to be humor, the romance merely secondary._  
>   
> 
>    
>  _That said, if you hadn't figured it out (but you all are too smart for that, so you probably guessed it the first chapter Bartleby/Brad shows up. ;) ), even with the fun bits, this story was always headed in a Bethany/Brad direction. Why? Because Barry and Larry seemed like pretty good guys until Azrael got his meat-hooks into them, and Bethany and Bartleby were definitely kindred spirits through out the movie, pretty much right up until he tried to kill her. And even then, that was a few thousand years of repressed anger finally coming to a head, and none of it would've happened if Azrael hadn't tricked both sides into believing the other was out to get them. Azrael was the bad guy; Bartleby and Loki were just the unfortunate pawns in his master plan._
> 
>  
> 
> _Thus, I found myself shipping Bethany and Bartleby before I even knew what shipping was. And so one of the very basic plot devices for Beginnings in Disguise was born! The other, of course, being Illana, because really, she's just fun._
> 
>  
> 
> _Put the two together and hey, I almost have some plot going on. ;)_


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I feel I should mention that this whole chapter offends my sensibilities (ew, mushiness!), and the entire time I was writing it I was making my Uncomfortable Face (scrunch nose, shift mouth as far to the left as it will go). However, Beta liked it, so I hope you all do, too. :)_

Unfortunately, upon discovering their feelings for each other, both parties suddenly found themselves too busy to do much about said feelings. Not even two weeks after the eventful Girls Weekend, Bethany is neck-deep in school again for the first time in almost twenty years. Any free time she may have once had between work and taking care of Illana is soon filled with attending classes, reading texts books, and finishing homework. Technology, of course, had taken huge leaps and bounds in those twenty years as well. She always thought she had a pretty good handle on using computers, but there is a difference between keeping up with your email and mindless hours of data entry at the clinic and actually trying to use internet boards and Desire2Learn to post discussions, turn in assignments, and take quizzes. Even with previous experience, she always felt two (hundred) steps behind her fellow classmates who had grown up in the Digital Age.

Brad’s caseload ended up doubling, and on top of that, he also got pulled into an ongoing investigation with the FBI as a few rather famous (and expensive) paintings were stolen from the Art Institute of Chicago. The switch from homicide and missing persons to a white collar, violence-free crime was almost a relief, he admitted to her over one of the few phone calls they had been able to manage between them, but trying to play nice with the Boys in Black was setting a few teeth on edge around the precinct.  


It’s not until late October that the two of them get any sort of breathing room, Bethany wrapping up a week of mid-terms and Brad and his new FBI friends finally catching a lead on the case. 

“Or rather, the head agent, Burke, caught a lead and chased it back to New York,” Brad tells her over the phone on the first Friday afternoon Bethany has had to herself in weeks. “All that’s left for us is the clean up.”

“Sounds absolutely stimulating,” she replies, not even trying to hide her sarcasm.

“Actually, this time it might be kind of fun. Burke was damn good at his job, and guy he’s after is entirely too clever – and ballsy; the kid walked into a police station full of the very same people who have been trying to catch him for years disguised as a pizza delivery boy just to yank on Burke’s chain – for his own good. I’ve been around for awhile, and I’ve never seen the kind of dynamic that these two have going. It’s like the very best game of chase ever, and for a while we got front row seats.”

“You sound almost impressed. Should I be jealous?”

“I _was_ impressed. And as much as the thought of the two of you getting into a bitch fight over me makes the inner caveman go ‘uugh’, the sad truth is the kid only had eyes for Burke. I never thought it possible there was a stranger relationship basis out there than our own, but I think I may have just been proven wrong.”

“Perish the thought,” Bethany laughs. “Sounds like a hell of a story. You should come over tonight and tell me more. I’ll even make dinner.”

“What, like an actual date?”

“No, like two friends who’ve known each other for years who are having dinner together and catching up after a crazy few weeks, just like we have countless times before. The only exception being you get to be as handsy as you want as long as I get to do the same.”

“Now that’s the kind of dinner I can stand behind,” he agrees enthusiastically. “I’ve got a few things I need to wrap up here, but I can probably make it around 8 o’clock or so.”

“Sounds good,” Bethany tells him. “That’ll give me time to go out and actually pick up something to make for dinner that doesn’t start with ‘Mac’ and end in ‘cheese’; Illana is having a sleepover at her friend’s, and I kind of forgot to get groceries with all my higher brain function focused on my Psychology mid-term this morning,” she admits wryly.

“Always knew you were the classy type. See you in a few hours.”

…

Apparently Bethany wasn’t the only one with last-minute dinner plans, though, because the grocery store was incredibly busy when she got there. Shopping took far longer than it should have, giving her a late start, and then it was only actually about quarter after 7 when Brad arrived. This leaves dinner only half prepared and Bethany wrist-deep in chicken innards, surrounded by various un-cut vegetables, when he walks through the door.

“You’re early,” she accused, gesturing the giblets at him in a threatening manner. “I thought I had until 8.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he replies, seemingly genuinely contrite as he set a paper bag on the counter beside her and snags an arm around her waist for a hello kiss. “Traffic was almost creepily good and I may not have been paying as much attention to the speedometer as I should have. I did bring wine to make up for it, though,” he adds cheerfully, using his free had to pull a bottle of rosé from the paper bag. “I didn’t know what you were making, so I went with something that goes with pretty much anything.” 

She eyed the label suspiciously, but was please to discover that it was one of the more reasonably priced but still tasty brands. Also, who was she to turn down free booze?  


“Alright, you’re forgiven,” she allows. “Can you chop and chat at the same time without undue risk to fingers?”

“I am the master of multi-tasking. I may have even helped invent it. Just point me in the direction of the knives.”

Even with his help, it’s closer to 8:30 by the time dinner is finished, mostly because, between amusing antidotes of the latest adventures at the 34th precinct and Bethany loudly complaining about one of her more obnoxious classmates, both of them were taking shameless advantage of the “handsy as you want” agreement. Finally having access to the fantastic ass she had so often admired, Bethany rarely lets an opportunity to grab it pass her by, and Bradly seems quite content to kiss her breathless every time their paths cross between the sink and the counter. Or the fridge and the table. Or pretty much any other instance where they’re less than three feet from each other, which happens quite often.  


By the time they actually sit down to eat, the potatoes are over boiled and disintegrating and the cooked vegetables have the consistency of mush. The only thing eatable is the chicken, and as Bethany forgot to add any sort of seasonings or broth when she put it in the oven, it comes out rather bland and not very appetizing.

“Okay,” she says, shoving the flavorless chicken aside, “maybe next time we cook together, there should be a few more ground rules. Especially on the ‘handsy’ part.”

Brad, eyeing the vegetable’s lack of molecular cohesion and the sad, liquidy lumps of potatoes, just chuckles quietly and agrees. “You think Rab would deliver if we asked him nicely?”

“Can’t hurt to ask. In the mean time, how about ice cream and Pay Per View?”

…

In the half hour it takes for their food to be dropped, they’ve cleaned out about a half a gallon of ice cream between them and are two chase scenes into the newest James Bond film, though neither one of them have been paying all that much attention to the movie.

Closing the door behind a smirking John, Bethany turns to carry their dinner into the kitchen. Before she gets too far, though, Brad steps into her personal space, taking the steaming bags from her hand and setting them on the narrow table in the hall before backing her up against the door.

“You know,” he says, voice low. “I’m really not all that hungry anymore. Think these will keep for awhile?”

Oh, she’s pretty sure they would keep just fine.

…

For all his boldness in the hall, however, once they’re in the bedroom and things really start to get hot and heavy, he hesitates and pulls away, shy all of a sudden.

"I haven't... um..."

Riding high on a flood of endorphins, it takes Bethany a few seconds to realize what he means. "Seriously?" she asks. "You've been human for more than seven years and you never got curious enough to try out the new equipment?"

He looks slightly offended. "I've been working through several thousand years of an inferiority complex. Sex would've just made it more... complicated."

The initial rush is dying down a bit - still right there, burning just below the surface, and it wouldn't take much to rekindle it - but it's faded into a sort of giddy absurdity. She giggles into his shoulder. Feeling him tense up, she's quick to point out. "Sorry, sorry, not laughing at you. I just thought I was going to be the one with the biggest bed-side confession."

"What?" He wears confusion very well, and she feels a quick burst of heat bubble to the surface again before it settles back down to a simmer.

"It's been well over eight years since the last time I got laid, so I think we're on pretty even footing." Now it's his turn to look shocked. She shrugs, and continues. "Being a full time mom doesn't leave a lot of room for a love life, _especially_ a full time mom with a half divine daughter. Illana doesn't ever go looking for trouble, but that doesn't stop it from finding her on a pretty regular basis."

"That bad, huh?"

She sighs. "Depends on your perspective, I suppose. Put it this way - I'm starting to get a really good idea why the Whoever They Weres left 'Jesus, the early years' out of the Bible. I've had a host of angels and humans and the Original Divine Offspring to lean on; Mary just had herself and Joseph. The woman should've been named a freaking saint."

That startles a chuckle out of him, and he relaxes against her again. "'Mary, Patron Saint of Divine Offspring'. It does have a certain ring to it."

Bethany laughs too, leaning against his shoulder. Pleased when he takes the opportunity to wrap his arms casually around her waist, she continues. "I would definitely be all over that medal, that's for sure. Maybe she could give me some sort of guidance as to what the hell I'm doing."

"I don't know," he says, shifting closer until her left side is pressed against the line of his chest, thumbs stroking distractingly at her waist. "Seems to me you've done a pretty good job so far."

"'So far' being the operative words," she admits.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he replies. “Illana is happy, and she has people who love her. As someone who has watched a lot kids grow up over the years, that’s really all you can do. If they’re happy, and they’re loved, everything else usually falls into place.”

“Really?” she asks, tilting her head back slightly so she can see his face.

“Really,” he tells her with smile, pulling her closer. Satisfied with his former knowledge on the subject, she takes him at his word and relaxes against him.

“Unless of course the kid’s just crazy to begin with. Then all bets are off.”

Bethany makes a disbelieving noise of panic and straightens. “I don’t want to hear that!” His response is to start laughing, and she considers elbowing him hard in the rib. “Bastard.”

“Now that is blatantly untrue,” he says, feigning insult. “According to my birth certificate, Bradley Jones was born and recognized by both loving parents, Susan and Edmond Jones.”

“Uh-huh, of course.” Bethany rolls her eyes, tempted to give him another elbow. “I guess I’ll have to go with ‘smart ass’ then.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he replies, still far too smug underneath the fake sincerity. She does elbow him this time, pleased at the woof of air he expels. She always did have good aim with her elbows.

“Seriously, though,” he says, rubbing the sore spot on his side briefly before replacing the arm around her waist. Figuring he has been sufficiently disciplined for the time being, she lets him. “I met her once. Mary, I mean.”

Bethany leans away to stare at him incredulity. “You’re shitting me.” She stares at him some more. “You’re not shitting me.” Brad shrugs, and Bethany has to focus on something else before her eyes popped out of her head “Wow… that’s…. Wow. What was she like?”

He leans back a bit on his arms, eyes staring unfocused at the corner of her bedroom ceiling. “She was... intense, not someone who could be easily ignored. Or trifled with. I didn’t see it myself, but I heard rumors that she took out a would-be thief with a basket of fruit. Apparently she had really good aim.”

That startles a brief burst of laughter from Bethany, and Brad continues. “She definitely had a presence, too. When she and her son were in the same place, all eyes might’ve start on Jesus, but they ended on her, filled with wonder at this extraordinary woman who had born and raised such an incredible child, and the disbelief that she could possibly be a mere mortal.”

He leans in close again and bumps her shoulder with his, taking the opportunity to replace his arms around her waist and kiss her neck. “You two would’ve been well matched. She was able to do this two thousand years ago; I know you can do it today.”

Moving in even closer, he continues. “Now, I do believe we were in the middle of something before Existential Angst got the best of us. Care to back-track?”  


She laughs and lets him distract her.

…

It isn’t the greatest sex she’s ever had, but it is far from the worst, either, and it’s been so long that she doesn’t really remember her previous encounters in all that much detail anyway. It is, however, probably the most fun she has ever had in bed, filled with a lot more laughter and giggling than is probably dignified for a thirty-nine year old mother of the latest Messiah, but as they take turns discovering and rediscovering what the other likes most, Bethany decides she really doesn’t care.

She finds out that Brad is extremely ticklish and she can use that to her advantage, especially when she wants to be on top. He discovers that Bethany likes to be touched, and that dragging his fingers lightly down her back or her stomach will cause her to melt bonelessly against him.

In the end – a pleasurably surprising amount of time later; apparently fallen angels don’t need very long to recover – she figures that ‘great’ might be overrated anyway, because ‘great’ tends to be a short term thing, an expectation that leaves too much room for disappointment in the long run. With Brad, it is an easy, comfortable ‘good’ that promises to stand up to the test of time, and that sounds like a far better deal.

It’s only later, just as she is falling asleep with his body warm against her back, that she realizes she is already considering a future with Brad, and she is surprised at how little she fears that particular future.

Her next thought, of course, is that this is probably what God had in mind all along, so she flips off the ceiling for good measure before snuggling closer and falling into a dreamless (and well-earned) sleep.

…

A few days later, they all get together for lunch at The Candle. Before she leaves, Mary snags her arm and takes her aside as Brad helps Illana into her jacket and Rab boxes up the leftovers.

She eyes Brad with a long, lingering, and very approving look. “Nice catch.”

“Uh-huh,” Bethany replies, deadpan. “And there was absolutely no peer pressure or divine interference involved at all.”

Mary shrugs. “Still, if He wants to play matchmaker, you can’t fault the guy for His taste in boyfriend material, because _damn_.” She gives Brad another very frank once-over before turning back to Bethany. “Anyway, I have something for you.” She reaches into her apron pocket and produces a small, delicately carved wooden box. Inside is a beautifully detailed silver Madonna pendent and a note on thick, papyrus-like paper.

_There is no “How to Raise Divine Offspring for Dummies” – trust me, I looked. The trick is to fake it until everyone else believes, and maybe eventually you’ll start believing it yourself._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Peter Burke and Neal Caffrey are not mine (though wouldn't it be nice if they were?) and belong to the writers and production staff for the awesome USA series White Collar._  
>   
> 
> _(And, if you are informed enough on the awesomeness of the series to know the timeline for it, honesty impels me to admit I may have rearranged time a bit to suit my purpose. Just a little, though. Not more than a year or two, tops. ;) )_


	27. Bonus: Game Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Wrote this one directly after Bethany and Brad had the dinner of spectacular failure (or spectacular success, depending on how you look at it). Since I've hit a bit of a road block on where I'm at in the story currently and I don't know when I'll come up with a new chapter, here's a bonus I hope you enjoy! Seriously, thanks ya'll for sticking with me through the months-long absences._

The next few days are great. Almost too great, in fact, and Bethany starts to get suspicious that Brad-the-human might actually be too good to be true. He can cook, he cleans up after himself, he even managed to track down the mystery rattle in her car in about thirty minutes and fix it, something that would’ve cost her $200 bucks at her regular mechanic.

At that was just in one weekend. He also happens to have multiple PhDs, he is fantastic with children, and did she mention really freakin’ hot?

In the wise words of Nancy Meyers, something’s gotta give.

And it does. On Sunday morning, in fact, when he pretty much abandons her for the television and the Fox Pre-Game show. Turns out Brad is a football fan. A very loud, obnoxious, curse-out-the-refs-every-ten-minutes football fan. And if it’s a Packer game, it’s ten times worse.

“You do know they can’t hear you, right?” she points out during a commercial break, her head still ringing from his latest outburst – any attempt to get his attention during the game resulted in at most a hand wave, and usually was just ignored completely. “Lambeau field is several hundred miles north; no matter how loud you shout, they’ll just keep doing exactly what they’re doing.”

“Doesn’t mean the refs aren’t _fucking blind_ , did you not see how the defense was holding? They should’ve flagged the play!”

“No, actually, I didn’t see a damned thing. It’s only a game.”

“ Please, I’ve spent the last millennium living in Wisconsin, where modern American Football was practically invented. Football in Wisconsin isn’t a sport, it’s a religion.”

“Uh huh. I wonder what the Big Man has to say about that.”

“He only has himself to blame, he’s the one who dumped me there in the first place. _MOVE YOUR ASS, DRIVER!_ Go go Go GO! HELL YEAH, TOUCHDOWN GREEN BAY!"

Head ringing and totally forgotten once again, Bethany leaves him to his love affair with the Packer's star receiver and makes her retreat. She ends up in Illana's bedroom (as far from the living room as she can get without leaving the house), borrowing her daughter's bright pink Dora the Explorer over-ear head phones listening to the Wiggle's: Wiggly, Wiggly World at max volume.

So, not too good to be true after all. And her revenge is to sing 'It's the Wiggles, it's the Wiggles, dancing with their friends!' as loud and obnoxious as she possibly can when he's trying to watch the Dallas/Carolina game later that afternoon.


	28. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Happy Thanksgiving to all those who celebrate it, and I hope everyone else has a lovely Thursday!_

It's the day before Thanksgiving Break, and they're on dinner duty this year. She's parked in front of Illana's school, writing out a grocery list of all she still needs for tomorrow, when the back door opens and her daughter hops in, throwing her back pack onto the seat next to her.

"Here," she says, handing Bethany a paint-splattered paper, folded in half like a card. "I made you a Thanksgiving card in Art today. Got one for Mary and Rab, too, and an extra that Rufus and Poppy can take back with them tomorrow if he has time. We made them by smearing our hand in paint – it was all squishy and messy and super fun, can we finger paint sometime at home, too? – and then pressing it against the front of the paper. Most of the kids only used one color but I used more – orange and brown and then I added a bit of white later – because turkeys aren't just brown, they're all sorts of colors."

"Anyway," she continues, "after the paint had dried, our teacher had all these circles and shapes like a turkey head cut out of construction paper that we glued over the top of our hand-print, all in different colors. Yours is orange, Mom, and Rab and Mary will get the brown one and Poppy gets the red – and then when we finished, it looked like a turkey! With our hand prints as the tail feathers, all spread out and stuff. Then we got to decorate the rest of the card with these sponges that were cut into the shapes of different leaves that we dipped into paint and then stamped all over the rest of the card – there's three right there, on the front, but most of them are inside and I added one or two on the back, too. I wanted more purple leaves, but Zoe was hogging all the red paint so I just made a bunch of blue leaves instead."

"Aww, thank you, sweetie!" Bethany holds up the card, admiring it. "This is totally the best turkey ever and I'm sure everyone else will love theirs as well. I like that leaf best," she says, pointing to a blue one in the corner on the inside that Illana had cleverly colored over with red marker to make a quasi-purple. She refolds the page and tucks it safely away into the glove box so it doesn't get crumpled. "We're headed to the Candle now to pick up _another_ turkey- -"

Illana's snicker cuts her off mid-sentence. "I'm telling Rab you called him a turkey," she grins.

Bethany glares at her offspring in the rear-view mirror as she pulls away from the curb. "Ha, ha, very funny," she retorts. "I _meant_ our dinner for tomorrow, the raw, naked turkey that has been thawing in his fridge for the last 36 hours, Imp," Illana giggles again, and Bethany gives her another Look before directing her attention back to the road. "Anyway, you can give Rab and Mary their card when we pick it up. Unless you want to give it to them tomorrow."

"I'll give it to him today," her daughter agrees. "Then he can hang it up with the rest of his decorations. Can we have lemon meringue pie tomorrow? I wanna use the mixer!"

"As long as you promise to leave the tongs _in_ the bowl while they're spinning this time, I don't see why not. Pie filling tastes much better when it is actually in the pie and not splattered all over the cupboards and ceiling," she tells her, turning into the newly expanded parking lot at the Candle.

"That was _once_ , and I was only six!" Illana protests, now at the ripe old age of seven-and-a-half. "Now come on, let's get the turkey already. I'm hungry!"

"I'm telling Rab you called him a turkey," she mocks as they climb out of the car.

An indignant "Hey!" is her only reply, and Bethany walks through the doors of the restaurant triumphant.

…

Though Thanksgiving Dinner isn't planned to start until early afternoon, everyone starts showing up around 11:00 or so. Bethany is prepared for this, and has a table of munchies set up next to the window in the living room to tide everyone over until they sit down to eat. Brad and Rufus show up first, both of them actually being quite helpful in the kitchen before they get distracted by the Miami-Detroit game. When Rab and Mary arrive a little before noon, Mary takes about thirty seconds to arrange her one and only donation to the spread – some rather phenomenal homemade cream puffs – on the dessert table before declaring herself off duty for the next 24 hours, grabbing a beer and plopping herself down on the couch with the boys to watch football. She yells at the refs a lot and gets louder and more obnoxious every time the Dolphins score a touchdown. The Packers aren't playing, but that doesn't stop Brad from shouting and getting obnoxious right along with her.

Rufus flees into the kitchen to help Bethany and Illana at half time, proclaiming loudly that "I am a gentleman who has _evolved past_ the days when women were the ones slaving away in the kitchen doing all the dirty work while their old man sits on his ass in front of the fire contemplating his toenails!"

Brad's only reaction is to flip him off from where he leans forward in the Lazy Boy, not once looking up as he and Mary both continue to yell obscenities at the screen.

"So," Bethany asks, pouring green beans and Cream of Mushroom soup into a casserole dish, "I take it the Lions aren't doing so hot?"

"They are getting their butts _handed_ to them," Rufus admits, mashing viciously at the hapless potatoes in front of him. "And Mary is taking entirely too much pleasure in pointing that out to me." Illana gives his arm a sympathetic pat from his other side, dumping some more potatoes into the pan for him to take his aggression out on.

When they all finally sit down to dinner an hour or so later, Rufus is still a bit grumpy about Detroit's loss and the mashed potatoes are light, creamy, and almost entirely lump-free.

…

Though he doesn't make it to dinner, Metatron does drop by after to mooch some dessert. It's a nice surprise – Bethany knows they get kind of busy up top this time of the year – even if he does take the last brownie.

"It's Thanksgiving," he replies when she mentions her surprise. "Early enough in the holiday season that no one is on the edge yet, ready to go postal due to an over-abundance of Holiday Bloody Cheer – and I mean that literally; two hundred thousand years of evolution, and it all goes down the toilet on Black Friday as you lot swarm from shop to shop like locust, consuming everything and everyone that gets in your way. Neither is it late enough that dwindling pocket books, skyrocketing debt, and excess greed brings out the very worst in everyone, sending many into a spiraling depression that, if they're lucky, might start to lift somewhere around February."

He pauses long enough to stare mournfully at the various bottles of wine sitting on the refreshment table, lets out a lofty sigh and pours himself some of the sparkling grape juice instead. "For now, though," he shrugs, "it's Thanksgiving. A holiday dedicated solely to eating far too much and being thankful for what we have. Everyone is so busy either basking in the warmth of family or going into a tryptophan coma that there aren't many left to cause trouble. Tomorrow is a different story, of course, but today... Today we get a little peace."

"And I," he adds, scooping up another piece of pumpkin pie and adding a huge dollop of whipped cream to the top, "intend to damn while enjoy it while it lasts. You should, too."

His bounty in hand, he turns to makes his way back to the rest of the family where they lay in various states of sprawl around the TV, taking turns yelling at the Buccaneers to get their ass back in the game. If there is only one thing her nearest and dearest can agree on when it comes to football, it's that they all hate the Dallas Cowboys with a passion.

She watches as Illana happily climbs into his lap as soon as he's seated, and she can't help but smile. She pauses only long enough to dishes herself up another slice of lemon meringue pie, adds a few cream puffs on the side, and goes to join them.


	29. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So sorry for the long delay! I've been having trouble getting in contact with my beta, and I'm still kind of meh about how it reads, but I figure you all have waited long enough for a new chapter, so here it is. Any mistakes are my own, please feel free to point them out to me._

Considering the whirl-wind of End Of Semester Rush and the holiday season kicking into full gear immediately after Thanksgiving weekend, Bethany finds herself more and more grateful for that one day of peace. She isn’t entirely clear on the details, but she does manage to finish her first semester back at school on the Dean’s List, and she vaguely recalls helping her mother set up a huge Holiday Dinner for some of their blood-relations. Or quite possibly a small town – again, she isn’t really clear on the details.

New Years, on the other hand, she remembers quite clearly – from the extended make-out session with Brad once the clock struck midnight, to the extremely impressive fireworks display the city of McHenry put on to ring in 2007 and its 175th Anniversary - and, most memorable of all, the loooong lovely night creating some fireworks of their own back home afterwards.

After the rush of November and December, though, January is like a sigh of relief. Semester break had never seemed so sweet. In spite of the fireworks (or perhaps in part because of them), she was beat.

Just a week or so before classes start again, Brad comes down for the weekend. They’re enjoying a leisurely stroll through the park in the hour and a half before Illana finishes school for the day, while at the same time attempting to get rid of some stale bread by feeding the water fowl. That, however, ends in a feathered mob and Bethany laughing so hard she almost falls over when Brad is forced to drop the bag and run after coming face-to-sensitive-bits with the boss swan and her Canadian cronies.

“You couldn’t have warned me?” he demands when he gets back to the picnic table she took refuge on top of when feathers started to fly. “She almost castrated me!”

“Those were just love nips, you big baby,” she replies, still slightly breathless from laughter, “I know for a fact you’ve had worse.”

“She’s bigger than most dogs!”

“Just be glad she didn’t break out the eight foot wingspan to knock you ass-over-teakettle in order to get the goods. There’s probably a YouTube video of her out there somewhere doing just that.”

“And again I ask, you couldn’t have warned me?”

She shrugs. “Why ruin the surprise?”

He brushes a few stray feathers from his jacket and hair, which only sets her off again. “You are an evil, evil woman,” he tells her. “What have I ever done to you?”

“Well,” she drawls, finally getting her laughter under control and accepting the hand he offers to help her off the picnic table, “the first time we met, you did try to kill me.”

He winces a bit. “Point taken. I suppose setting an aggressive swan on me is the least I deserved, though in my defense, I thought you were trying to kill me, too.”

She gives him a dirty look. “Uh-huh,” she replies, squishing a whole lot of meaning into those two syllables.

He has the grace to look ashamed at all of the things left unsaid. “Yeah, okay, so that is the worse defense ever. But,” he continues undaunted, letting go of her hand only long enough to fit his arm around her shoulders instead, “the second time we met, I assisted you through what appeared to be a very painful situation and I was a perfect gentleman about it – I had you soaking wet and pressed against my chest, and I didn’t even cop a feel.”

“How very courteous of you,” she replies, rolling her eyes. She lets his arm lie, though – there’s a cold breeze coming off the river and he is a very good wind block.

Not noticing her sarcasm – or, more likely, deciding to ignore it – he continues. “Then the _third_ time I helped you again and you went and threw coffee at me afterward. It took me forever to get the stains out of my collar, you know.”

“Oh, like you didn’t deserve every single splatter,” she responds, jabbing him in the ribs and ignoring his indignant ‘Ow!’ of protest. “Asshole.”

His arm stays comfortably around her shoulders, but the expected snarky reply isn’t forthcoming. Instead, he just keeps walking forward, eyes taking on that slightly unfocused look she had gotten familiar with over the months, the look that said he was miles away and years in the past.”

“Hey,” she asks quietly, bumping him gently, “where’d you go?”

His eyes re-focus on the present, shaking off the memory. “Nowhere, really,” he responds. “You just reminded me of something Loki and I used to joke about.”

“You miss him, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he says, tightening his arm around her shoulders. “Yeah, I guess I do. After being stuck with someone for four thousand years, it seems they kind of grow on you.”

“You never talk about what happened… after.” Knowing she might be treading on thin ice, she offers the opening, but she lets him make the decision to pursue it or change the subject.

“Not much to tell, really,” he shrugs. “We were home. After thousands of years of longing and wishing, we were finally home.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” she says, shifting her weight a bit to direct them toward a circle of benches bumping out slightly over the water.

“But,” he agrees, following her lead, “it wasn’t enough. Not for me, at least. I don’t know why, really. Maybe it was a ghost of the same human consciousness I had accused Loki of having just before I-- ” 

His voice breaks, cutting off the words before he speaks them. Bethany just shifts closer, pressing against his side.

After a moment to compose himself, he continues.

“Maybe it was an echo of that, or maybe after so long on Earth, Heaven just wasn’t home anymore. I don’t know the timeline – things were kind of hazy before Genesis, before there was a planet and a sun and day and night to mark the time by. And it was all so long ago.”

He pauses, looking out over the water. “I remember more clearly the four thousand years I spent here on Earth than I do the timelessness before our banishment," he adds. "Heaven was amazing – it still is, far more beautiful then you can possibly imagine – but... it wasn’t where I belonged anymore. I was so blinded by my desire to get back that I forgot that Earth can be pretty amazing, too.”

He turns to look back at her for that last part, but she just shakes her head and smiles. “You are such a sap,” she accuses. “And quite possibly too good to be true.”

“Nah, not too good to be true. Just not good enough for streets of gold. Not now, at least; I have some repenting to do before I get there.”

“Don’t we all. Not sure living in sin with the Mother of God 2.0 is the best place way to go about getting there, though,” she can’t help but point out.

He grins, throwing his arm around her shoulder again, and starts back the way they had come. “Yeah, I’m still working on that whole ‘resist temptation’ thing. So far, though, it’s kind of hard to see the appeal. Living in sin is just way more fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I totally made up the Boss Swan, but I've seen enough YouTube and Funniest Home Videos to know exactly how aggressive some swans can be, and I can vouch for their size myself because the one that hangs out at our little zoo is massive (I'd guess he/she would have a five or six foot wingspan, minimum, if they weren't clipped, and she's only "average sized"). With all that evidence, it doesn't take much to believe Boss Swan exists out there somewhere. ;)_
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> _The stuff about McHenry's 175th Anniversary was not made up, however - at least the history part, if not the huge celebration part - though I'm using a kind of hand-wavy time line. According to History of McHenry County (http :// www .encyclopedia .chicagohistory. org/ pages/ 801 .html - without the spaces), in 1832 Major William McHenry led an expeditionary force through northern Illinois during the Black Hawk War, which is the year I'm using to mark the "start" of the town of McHenry, Illinois._


	30. Bonus: Forgiveness is Divine, but homemade muffins sure come close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And, to make up for the long delay, two chapters for the price of one! Another Bonus Chapter with the long awaited return of a beloved character - Mary's Homemade Blueberry Muffins. ;)_

This. This was awesome. This was his chance to get off probation and… okay, get onto semi-probation, which didn’t exactly have a whole lot of wiggle room, either, but it was STILL better than probation and what qualified as the Heaven equivalent of House Arrest. Because on semi-probation he could visit Earth, and man, he had really missed Earth. Heaven was great and all, but it was also pretty much the same thing day in and day out, and God had him on a very, _very_ short leash – forgiveness is a given, sure, but piss Him off enough and He will make you _work_ for it.

But he was here now, and he was eating one of the lovely, clever, amazing Mary Magdalene’s muffins – which pretty much qualified as divine forgiveness in cake form in and of itself – and he had another half-dozen in a bakery bag at his side, and there were cars and cold and people and humanity and _change_ all around him, which after almost a decade of the same surroundings that _never_ changed, was quite possibly the best part of all.

And there was snow! He never, ever thought he’d admit this, but he had missed snow. He wanted to do a belly-flop into that yard and roll around in it a bit. Okay, maybe not _that_ yard because of all the yellow splotches and oh, _ew_ … Really, people? On the sidewalk too, would it kill you to clean up after your mammoth of a dog on occasion?

Dragging his foot through a patch of clearer snow the next yard over, he wonders if Bethany will maybe let him do a belly-flop into her backyard if he asks really nicely. Provided she doesn’t try to kill him on sight, that is… they hadn’t exactly left things on the greatest of terms last they saw each other.

But first, the mission. From God. To… deliver muffins. To the woman he had almost killed.

He really hoped this wasn’t God’s idea of joke.

…

Here it was, 134 S. Drovseberry. Time to face the music.

_Really, Lord. Not a joke, right?_

_Lord?_

Sighing, he steps off the sidewalk and tries steel himself as he approaches his maybe-doom, an act that's half pep-talk and half preparing for the worst because it doesn't seem like muffins - delicious though they may be - are _nearly_ enough to buy off attempted homicide. When he gets to the porch, though, all his steeling is for naught because the door opens before he even gets a chance to knock, and he’s left standing there with his hand up in the air like a douche.

The music is a lot shorter than he expected it to be.

“Hi… I’m, um…” he lowers his hand quickly, stuffing the offending appendage into his jacket pocket, but the girl in the doorway just breezes right over his stuttered greeting.

“Hey, Loki,” she says cheerfully. “Welcome back.” Then, without even pausing for breath, she yells back into the house, “BRAAAAAAAAD, COMPANY!” 

He sticks one finger in his ear and wiggles it a bit, hoping that the ringing will go away eventually.

He still hears a muffled “Who the hell…” from further inside the house, though, and then the girl and the muffins are both gone and Bartlby is there instead and a split-second later there are familiar arms around him and loud exclamations and yes, okay, maybe some manly tears as well.

Best muffin delivery EVER.

Eventually there is the actual music he had expected to face, but she just smiles and hands him a glass of iced tea as she waves them both on into the living room, where there is FOOTBALL – man, he may have missed football even more than he missed snow – playing on the television, and Bartlby/Brad is right there, telling him everything. It’s only been eight years, but he’s missed _so much._

Really… just… so, so much. He hopes this means he won’t have to miss any more.

…

He says as much, hours later, long after Bethany and Illana have called it a night. “I missed you, man,” he admits, voice thick with emotion. “Sorry I didn’t have your back these last few years.”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Brad replies, and if his eyes are suspiciously bright when he does, well, who’s going to tell? Being BFFs - in the truest sense of the term - has its perks. “Sorry I didn’t have your back the one time I should have.”

Loki shrugs. “We all have our bad days – and that one was pretty rotten, even by our standards. Everyone has their burdens to bear.” Then he grins at him, side-long. “And mine is heavy enough on its own, thanks," he adds with smirk, "so get your fat ass off it and I promise to do the same to yours.”

“Agreed,” Brad laughs, and they clink their drinks together – beer for Brad and, sadly, still just regular old iced tea for Loki – to seal the deal. “Pansy,” he adds a few seconds later, and the resulting shove fest-cum-wrestling match ends in the two of them having going halfsies on a new coffee table for Bethany.

Which turns into an entire living room set before all is said and done (“Otherwise it doesn’t match,” is the excuse when asked, closely followed by, “Also, you so totally owe me.” Which… okay, fair point), but even $300 poorer each and sore from lifting and moving heavy oak furniture all afternoon, it’s so totally worth it.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I have an update! And it only took... 7ish months. Better than a year, though, right? Sorry again for the long delays, guys, and thanks for sticking with me!_
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> _Still lacking a beta, so any mistakes left are my own. As always, please feel free to point them out to me and I'll do my best to fix them._

March, on the other hand, is actually pretty rotten. The semester is in full swing and because of the classes she's taking, it seems like there is an unending supply of essays, math homework, and philosophical debates due each week – homework that piles up even more when Illana comes home from school one day with an extremely high fever and an inability to keep anything down, and Bethany spends the next two days skipping out on classes entirely in order to nurse her daughter through the worst case of flu the girl has ever had the misfortune to experience, because apparently divine healing superpowers don't extend to common childhood ailments. By day three, Illana has started to recover, but by that point Bethany is weak and feverish, too, and she's forced to call on Rab and Mary to take over sick-kid sitting duty before she succumbs to the virus herself.

Illana's doing well enough that Rab decides to take her back to their place for the weekend rather than risk the plague by sticking around, a decision that Bethany is all in favor of. He leaves with a sleepy goddaughter leaning snug against his side and a promise that someone would be by to check on her. Once the two of them are out the door, Bethany barricades herself in her room and she doesn't remember much for awhile after that, just sweltering heat and shivering cold and a dull, steady ache in all her joints. There may have been a warm body in bed with her at one point, but her fever is high enough that she could just as easily write it off as a hallucination.

She is quite certain, after all, that the autumn Grimshaw print hanging on the wall next to the window never actually came to life with a rustle of golden brown leaves, nor that the solitary figure in the middle-distance turned to walk nearer, only to hop through the frame as easily as if it were a wide open window, setting her basket aside to lay a cool hand on Bethany's forehead and press a kiss against her temple. As hallucinations go, however, it was a rather pleasant one.

When the haze clouding her brain finally dissipates a little, she isn't entirely sure what day it is, only that her body still aches everywhere and she is absolutely exhausted. As she fumbles for her cell phone on the bedside table, she notices she's partially wrapped around an old fashioned hot water bottle, now cooled, which explains at least part of her fevered delusions. She also notices the big plastic water mug that they gave her at the hospital the night Illana was born, sitting half-full beside her phone. She lets the cell phone lie and reaches for the cup instead, silently thanking Rab or Mary or whoever it was who had the foresight to leave it for her whenever they last stopped by.

Even only half full, the mug seems to weigh entirely too much, but she still manages drag it close enough to get it into a relatively easy sipping position, more grateful than ever for the extra long bendy straw that came with it. Getting it back onto the bedside table is just not going to happen, though, so she secures it as best she can in the crook created between her pillow and the swell of her chest, then she decides that going back to sleep is quite possibly the best idea she has ever had. She's half-way there when the sound of the front door opening pulls her from the brink, followed a few seconds later by the soft tread of footsteps in the hallway. A moment after that, her bedroom door is gently opened from the outside and Brad comes in, paper grocery bag in his arms.

"Hey, baby," he says quietly when he notices she's awake. He dumps the grocery bag on her dresser and immediately comes to her side, lifting the water mug from its precarious position and laying a blessedly cool hand against her forehead. She closes her eyes and leans into it, unashamed.

"Looks like your fever has finally broken," he says, and she can literally feel the tension draining out of his fingers at the revelation. A second later the bed shifts slightly, and when she opens her eyes again he's sitting in the shallow hollow created by the curve of her torso and knees. "How are you feeling?" he asks, using the hand still pressed against her forehead to smooth some sweaty curls away from her face.

"Like crap," she croaks out. "Illana?"

"She's fine, she was even well enough to go back to school today. Rab dropped her off there this morning."

"School?" she asks, confused and head still rather muzzy. Hadn't it been Friday when she had called Rab?

"It's Monday morning," Brad tells her, answering the question before she can even figure out what she wants to ask. "You've been out of it all weekend."

Bethany groans and buries her face in her pillow. A week. She had missed almost an entire week of classes. Even thinking about trying to catch up on all the homework and notes she had missed makes her head throb all the more. Being sick sucks.

Brad chuckles quietly. "Yes, yes it does," he agrees, and she realizes she must have said that last bit out loud. "I especially don't recommend it after being immortal and pretty much indestructible for a few thousand years, only to suddenly find yourself fully grown and very, very human without much of an immune system to speak of. Those first few cold and flu seasons were a doozie."

She coughs out a weak laugh at that. Then her brain catches up to what he told her earlier. "Wait, Monday? Shouldn't you be at work?"

He shrugs, his hand still a soothing pressure against her temple. "I took a few personal days. I think they can survive without me that long."

"A few?" She can feel her brow wrinkling as she struggles to process a coherent thought through the cotton still stuffing her brain. "How long have you been here?"

He leaves his hand where it is just long enough to rub a few of the wrinkles away with his thumb before pulling back. "Rab called me up on Saturday afternoon after a minor meltdown at the restaurant that meant he couldn't get away to check on you. Mary had to stay with Illana, and Liz is still away at that medical conference, so that left me."

"But you were going to go to the St. Patrick's Day festivities with your buddies," she whines in protest. "You'd been planning it for weeks."

"Funny thing about Saint Patty's day," he replies wryly, "it always seems to happen on the same day every year. Besides, if you've seen one river dyed green, you've seen them all."

Her quiet chuckle turns into a cough, and he reaches over to retrieve the water mug for her. "I'd rather be here anyway," he continues after she's taken a few sips. "It's a lot harder for them to call me in to assist with herding all the loud, obnoxious Irish – reliving several centuries worth of their proud, ale-fueled heritage, all at once – when I'm an hour's drive away."

That gets another ragged chuckle. "Stop making me laugh," she grumbles, "my chest hurts enough as it is."

"My apologies," he says, though he obviously doesn't really mean it.

She grumbles again, but when he stands up and starts to move away, she catches his hand between hers. "I'm sorry you had to come all this way just to take care of me," she tells him.

He leans back in to press a gentle kiss against her lips. "I'm not."

"You'll catch the flu," she protests, but there isn't much force behind it because he smells like teak and sunshine and home and knowing he's been here all along makes something go loose and bright in her chest, and _holy shit, when did that happen?!_

"I'll risk it," he adds, distracting her from the sharp burst of realization and giving her another kiss, one that lingers just a bit, and she considers that maybe she isn't the only one who has just been blindsided by a revelation or two.

"Besides," he continues after a moment, detangling their hands and making his way back to the grocery bag sitting on her dresser. "Unlike _some_ people I know, I actually had my flu shot this year."

Bethany snorts and snuggles deeper into her pillow, giving in to the heavy weight of her eyelids and letting them close. It's a familiar argument, one they have been having since November, the doctor in him pushing the immunization, while Bethany stubbornly sticks to her guns about how natural immunity makes for a stronger immune system and a healthier life over all.

"And unlike _artificial_ immunity with a shelf life of six months," she snarks back, metaphorical feet firmly back on solid ground because nothing has changed, not really, they're just more aware of what was already there now, "I'll be immune against this particular strain for the rest of my life," she finishes, satisfied she has made her point.

The argument doesn't get much farther than that, though, because by the time he returns to her side with a bottle of Gatorade and another dose of Ibuprofen, Bethany has already fallen back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _First of all, again, I am so very sorry for the long wait. I'd promise it would never happen again, but I'm pretty sure I'd be lying._
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> _Second, this bit did not go where I was intending it to go, but I hope it turned out okay anyway._
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> _Lastly, if anyone is curious, the painting Bethany observes coming to life in her fever dream is called Stapleton Park near Pontefract Sun, by artist John Atkinson Grimshaw._


	32. Chapter 32

It hits her, rather suddenly, on a Sunday afternoon when she’s helping Mary “clean up” after the lunch rush at the Candle – an activity that has rather less to do with clearing away dirty dishware and more to do with the two of them admiring all the rippling man-flesh from the dining side of the Order Up window as Rab and Brad not-so-effortlessly muscle a new six burner stove into place.

In particular, it hits her when her eyes stray – as they often do – to the very appealing muscles of Brad’s back and shoulders, and how, as the two of them finally shove the stove into position, they flex _just so_... like he still hasn’t quite gotten used to not having a pair of wings there to counter-balance himself.

The plastic tub full of dirty silverware she'd been carrying crashes to the floor, spilling its contents everywhere. Her only saving grace is that it hits in tandem with the deep stainless steel clang of the stove settling into place, so the only person to notice her minor meltdown is Mary.

“You alright there, sister?” she asks in an undertone, kneeling down to help clean up the mess.

“I’m fine. Totally fine. Don’t mind me,” Bethany babbles, dropping a fist full of soiled forks back into the tub. 

“Your red face and the fact that you haven’t inhaled at all in the last thirty seconds or so is tellin’ me otherwise.”

Bethany inhales.

“…”

“…”

“… You have to exhale, too, honey, or it doesn’t work so out well.”

She breathes out with a woosh. And then she covers her still burning face in her hands.

“Bethany?”

“Oh my god, I’m in love with a fallen angel,” she says in a rush. Then she lifts her face again, eyes stricken. “Oh My God, I am LIVING IN SIN with a FALLEN ANGEL!” Though it has been a running joke for months, it suddenly seems _a lot_ bigger and less amusing than it was before.

Mary raises an eyebrow, indifferent to her friend’s obvious distress. “And I spent the first nineteen years of my life living at a brothel, and the last two thousand happily married to a man who has a reputation for hanging out with thieves, drunks, bullies, and prostitutes. Trust me, honey, we’ve seen it all – and I do mean all – and there ain’t no shame in loving someone with a past.”

Bethany lowers her hands, tension she hadn’t even realized was there bleeding from her muscles. “Well, when you put it like that…” she answers weakly.

“I do put it like that, and you know me… ‘I only speak the truth,’ ” Mary quotes. It has the desired effect - Bethany laughs at her awful Lautrec voice, letting any and all remaining tension drain from her shoulders as they finish cleaning up. By the time Bradly and Rab find them a minute or two later, they have moved on from simply quoting lines at each other to full fledged duets of some of their favorite songs from the film. The fact that neither one of them is all that vocally talented just makes it more entertaining.

“Dare I ask?” questions Rab, looking kind of pained but still valiantly offering his wife a hand up off the floor, which she accepts gracefully.

“Oh, you know,” Bethany says, trying – and failing – to stand while hampered by the heavy tub of dishware. Brad solves this dilemma by placing a firm hand under each elbow and lifting her easily to her feet, cutlery and all, and yeah, that kind of effortless strength will never, _ever_ stop being sexy, wings or no. “Just one more stunning example of my grace and poise,” she finishes once she’s vertical again.

Mary and Rab smile and take the words at face value, but there is a choked off chuckle from Brad, and she pauses long enough to steal a quick kiss before she moves past him into the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I do not like the flow of this one. It bothers me. I have not yet determined why it bothers me, but no amount of tweaking thus far has successfully managed to make it stop bothering me, and I’ve been poking and prodding at it for a week now. Hopefully it’s just me being overly critical of myself again and you all still enjoy it._


	33. Bonus - Girls and Boys and their Toys

Christmas break begins with Illana inviting Daz over for a sleepover. After some small amount of cajoling, she also manages to convince him to bring his prized remote control Traxxas monster truck – she did, after all, have a huge, brand new box of Legos (and early Christmas gift from Nana), and what was the point of building Lego cities if you didn’t have any over the top ways of destroying them?

They are busy doing just that Sunday afternoon when Brad arrives to help with dinner, gleefully rolling over a Lego-reproduction of the Empire State Building when he walks through the door.

She spends the rest of the afternoon making dinner by herself, serenaded by the crash of Legos and the rev of a tiny-but-powerful motor. She’s not sure whether to be amused or insulted to have her affections replaced by a child's toy.

Amusement wins, however, when she notices the Giants vs. Bills wildcard game being (almost) utterly ignored in favor of smashing a Lego-scale reproduction of Chicago beneath three inch rubber wheels. Who says there’s no such thing as Christmas miracles?

...

After that, it’s no surprise when Brad ends up getting Illana a ridiculously large gift card from Toys R Us for Christmas. It is even less of a surprise when he kidnaps Illana and Daz (with permission, of course) for the morning a few weeks later so they can go spend it. Least surprising of all, Illana isn’t the only one carrying a huge bright-colored box when they return, and the three of them spend the rest of the weekend making an Arctic Monster Truck Death Track out of snow in the back yard. 

What does come as a bit of surprise, however, is when Rufus shows up a day later, his own fang-bearing, ghostly flame-decaled RC vehicle in hand. The real shocker, though comes just as they are adding the finishing touches on the course – complete with stacked firewood , 45 degree inclines, mini snowman field of zombies (“Calvin and Hobbs, Mom, don’t you read?!”) and a slushy ice moat – when Metatron shows up. Fortunately for Bethany’s world view, he doesn’t bring a car to race, but he does bring Loki, whose arms are weighted down by a sleek looking Revo.

Which just goes to show, divine or not – all men are in reality just really big children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I so fail at regular updates. /o\ In my defense, I did try multiple times over the last nine months to beg the muses for something to work with, but they staunchly refused. I had to resort to randomly asking the BFF for ideas one night. She said "camping" and my brain went "MONSTER TRUCK DEATH MATCH", because obviously. Even so, it still took me two months to come up with these 400ish words but I wanted to give you all SOMETHING at least.
> 
> Writers block for the lose, man.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why are you all still here? I am a horrible author-ish person who doesn't deserve followers because she only updates once or twice a year and who has left everyone in various states wanting since 2011. /o\ Four. Entire. YEARS, people! I can only assume at this point that you all are some sort masochists. ;)
> 
> However, if you are still here - thank you. I really don't deserve ya'll.

(Feb 2008)

In February she gets an email from Jay and Bob going at length about how it had been _months_ since they had a proper Smash Brothers Marathon, and it just isn’t the same when you have to resort to headsets and instant messaging to communicate with your team, so pretty please can Illana come over for a play date? 

Bethany’s first reaction is to roll her eyes and draft a polite but firm “No!”, but she hesitates before clicking the ‘Send’ button. After all, it had been awhile since they all had a proper vacation, and with Spring Break coming up in a few weeks neither she nor Illana would have to miss any school. Also, though she would never ever admit it out loud, she kind of missed the degenerates, so she meanders over to Expedia to check flights. Since New Jersey isn’t exactly a Vacation Destination, even for the most hard core Spring Breakers, it turns out prices are dirt cheap. And being able to dump Illana off with Jay and Bob for a night or two while she and Brad enjoyed a nice hotel room _definitely_ had some serious appeal.

She buys three tickets before she can change her mind, then drafts a quick reply with their flight information and arrival time. They’ll rent a car when they get there, of course – she still has the occasional nightmare about the disastrous results the first and only time she was stuck in the back of the car while Jay drove – but at least it will give Bob an inkling of when to expect them.

Lastly, because she is in a mood and knows exactly the right buttons to push to get revenge for all the times he’s inflicted Jay on her in full motor-mouth sexparty mode, she signs off with a less than subtle “Play date, huh? I could definitely use one of those. Can you recommend any good hotels in the area? Preferably with hot tubs and room service.”

Bob does not disappoint, and she cackles gleefully when thirty seconds later, she receives a reply that is nothing but a string of special characters and huge gagging emoticon.

…

In a stunning example of how lovely March can be if Ma Nature puts a little effort into it, Spring Break arrives as pretty as can be. Air travel and Jersey traffic being what it is, however, they still arrive at Jay and Bob’s apartment complex an hour and a half later than initially planned. She doubts the boys mind over much, though; knowing the two of them, she’s pretty sure the delay just meant that they had all the more time to frantically try and make their apartment hospitable – a theory not the least bit disproved when they pull in just in time to see Bob lugging three over-stuffed bags of trash out the front door.

In the few minutes it takes them to find a parking space and climb stiffly out of the car, Bob manages to relieve himself of the trash bags and so has a huge grin and both arms free when Illana launches herself at him. In a move that is surprisingly agile for such a large man, he catches her around the middle and uses her own momentum to hoists her on his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, leaving her head to dangle upside down by his waist and both of his arms locked firmly around her legs as she squirms and laughs.

With the giggling 9 year old thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, Bob spares a quick glare for Brad – he never entirely got over the whole “trying to kill her thing” that happened when they first met – before offering Bethany a welcoming smile and freeing one of his arms long enough to gesturing through the still open front door with an almost courtly bow.

He pauses long enough to deposit Illana back on her feet at the foot of the stairs before leading the way up to the apartment he shares with Jay, inviting them in with a wave. Once inside he steps into the kitchen right off the foyer long enough to retrieve a few bottles of water, distributing his spoils – albeit slightly grudgingly in Brad’s case – when he rejoins them in the entryway.

Bethany accepts the water gratefully, cracking it open to take a quick swig – airplane travel always seems to dry her out a bit – before she turns her full attention to her daughter. “I suppose with this company, telling you to watch your language is about as useless as a screen door on a submarine, but I will remind you that your father and Poppy are always watching,” she preemptively reprimands.

Illana sighs. “Yeah. Word to the wise, never have all knowing parents,” she adds as an aside to Bob. “It’s a real buzz kill for the Id.”

“Shut the f---…”

Bethany glares.

“…--ridge up,” Jay continues with barely a pause, joining the party standing in the entryway. “This is a no philosophy zone, you leave that BS at the door.”

So caught up in his rant, it takes him a second before he realizes everyone is staring at him.

“What? I can read.”

“Superego I’d buy, though perhaps not from a psychological standpoint,” Bethany replies, giving Jay a considering look, “but the Id and the Ego?”

“I have layers, man. Like that fat green guy in all those cartoons. What do you say, short stack, you ready to appease the Id and the Ego with some--”

“SMASHBROTHERS!!!” the two of them shriek in unison, abandoning the other three at the doorway in a mad dash for the living room.

“I hope you have good audiologist, man,” Brad mutters, straightening from the instinctual hunch one assumes when one must suffer through sudden loud noises. After a year and a half together and regular exposure Illana (who definitely got her Father’s ability to subdue pretty much anyone with her voice, though thankfully not with such explosive results) even before then, the motion is almost as smooth and well practiced as Bethany’s own.

Bob holds up a finger and pulls a small plastic canister from his pocket, brandishing it with a smug smile.

“Ear plugs,” Bethany says after he tilts it so they could read the label. “Smart man.”

A girlish shriek of laughter followed by an only partially sanitized string of curses wafts from the living room, and her eyes narrow. “If I get my daughter back the day after tomorrow and she has suddenly become a potty mouth, there will be heavenly retribution,” she warns him. “And then there will be Mommy retribution, which will make the heavenly retribution seem like a siesta in Cancún.”

Bob’s response is to pick up the nearest non-breakable object – in this case, what appears to be John Clancy’s latest paperback – and hefts it at the back of Jay’s head where it towers over the back of the couch.

“Ow! Prick off, you fudger! You just messed up my combination!”

Then he turns back to Bethany with an eyebrow raise.

“Better,” Bethany allows. “Seems kind of rough on your library, though.” 

Bob grins and opens the closet door next to the entryway with a flourish. When Bethany peaks her head around the corner, a half a dozen canisters of colorful tennis balls greet her sight, with the occasional wiffel ball and ping pong tossed in for variety. There are also a few Nerf guns and a Super Soaker – and a certain glint in Bob’s eye that indicates he will enjoy the hell out of keeping Jay as proper as possible for the next 48 hours or so.

He grabs huge Nerf gun and a few tennis balls before closing the rest away for later. Sufficiently armed and armored for his valiant quest against the crude and vulger, he starts to make shooing gestures at the two of them until they’re back in the long hallway outside the apartment. Once clear, he gives Bethany a cheerful wave and makes the universal “I’m watching you” two-finger point and glare at Brad – it’s cute how he’s still so protective of her even after all these years – before closing the door in their face.

“Well,” Brad comments a few seconds later to the accompaniment of animated death throes, childish laughter and decidedly un-sanitized string of curses that waft their way through the closed apartment door. “I think we’ve been dismissed.”

Bethany grins. “At least he didn’t threaten you with his weird spiky Klingon sword this time.”

“I suppose any day that lacks threat of evisceration via Bat’leth can be considered a good day,” he agrees.

“It’s hilarious how you know what that is.”

“I’m best friends with the Angel of Death; he is extremely particular about proper weapon designation, real or otherwise,” and Bethany gives in to some laughter of her own as the two of them turn to make their way back downstairs to the car.

…

A few miles down the road, though, the cheerful atmosphere fades to something slightly more somber as they find themselves weaving their way through the back-roads of Redbank, following an invisible pull. 

It's no great surprise, then, when she sees their destination through the trees - the peaked arches and bright stained glass windows of Saint Michael’s Church standing sentry over the quiet residential street. It is, after all, the place where it almost ended - and, more importantly, where it all began.

Ten years. Ten years since last they were standing here, on different sides in a battle for existence. She can’t help but marvel at everything that had to happen for them to be standing here again, but this time as partners – hands entwined and hearts rather hopelessly entangled as well – instead of enemies. 

Beside her, Brad seems to be experiencing a similar feeling of disbelief and awe, staring at the doors of the church like a drowning man might stare at a ship drifting across the horizon… so close and yet so hopelessly out of reach. Once he thought those doors were his salvation; she wonders if he still does, wonders if he brought her here to say goodbye.

“You want to go in?” she asks, hesitant and not entirely sure she wants to hear the answer. She still has to ask, though.

His eyes break away from the arched entryway, and he smiles at her – a warm, familiar smile that has nothing to do with goodbye, and the sliver of ice in her heart melts away like it was never there at all.

“Nah,” he says. “I figure I’ll keep working at repenting the old fashioned way. Seems to be working so far.”

She laughs, part relief and all irony. “Aside from the whole living in sin with the mother of the next Messiah, you’re doing a great job.”

“Actually,” he shifts to stand in front of her, for once not laughing at the old joke, “I think I can even cross that repentance off my list,” he continues, reaching into his pocket to pull out a glittering gold ring, the three diamond set into the band sparkling merrily in the spring sunlight as he holds it between them. “If you’ll have me, that is.”

‘Shocked’ doesn’t even cover it. ‘Speechless’ comes close, but it doesn’t explain why she is suddenly having trouble remembering how to breathe.

“I know it’s not romantic,” he continues in a rush, “and I know it’s kind of a strange place to ask considering everything that happened here, but…” he stumbles to a halt, taking her stunned silence for sick shock or horror, and he lets his hand fall. “I guess I was just trying to replace some of the bad memories will good ones,” he finishes, shoulders slumping in dejection.

She wants to scream at him. She wants to grab him by the collar of his jacket and yell in his face for being so incredibly _dense_ , but screaming requires breathing and she still hasn’t quite figured out how to do that yet, so instead she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him, speaking her assent with the taste of happiness on her lips and the press of her body against his. 

Respiratory function is highly overrated anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And before you ask, no, I am not planning on writing a wedding.
> 
> (I'msosorrypleasedon'thateme)


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't a wedding. I told you I wasn't going to write a wedding, and I meant it, so this is definitely not a wedding. It's more... hmm... paperwork and a party? Yeah, that pretty much covers it.
> 
> So, you know, fair warning. If you were hoping for a big, fancy, months to plan wedding with flowers and cake and wedding planning shenanigans befitting a Kevin Smith movie, you should probably skip this chapter because you'll only be disappointed.

(April)

There’s no wedding to speak of. No fancy invitations or venue to choose, no nit picking over colors and flower arrangements. Just a shopping trip to the Magnificent Mile in Chicago one weekend, allowing the girls a chance to pick out their dresses – off the rack, each different based on the wearers tastes, but all of them simple and comfortable enough that there would be any number of opportunities for future uses – while Loki and Brad spend maybe an hour on a similar quest for decent suits before ending up at a sports bar down the street, chowing down on over-priced hot wings and gourmet sodas.

They pick a date at the end of April at the McHenry courthouse. There’s not much of a ceremony planned, either, though they do toy with the idea of exchanging vows. Ultimately, though, they decide nothing really needs to be said; each knows their own heart, and trying to put those feelings into words will only result in one or both of them crying and choking on the words anyway, so why stress about it? 

A banquet for afterward is also far too daunting a prospect. A _party_ , on the other hand, is totally doable, especially when Rab so courteously suggest the Candle as the perfect location. The venomous look Mary sends her husband at the offer is almost enough to curdle milk, but Bethany quickly laughs and assures her it will be a good old-fashion carry-in, thus relieving the harried chef of any cooking duties for the evening.

Also, turns out that not only is Daz’s oldest brother, Carlos, a member of a small classic rock and 90s cover band, but he also recently decided to try his hand at DJing. The look on the kid's face when Bethany hires him on the spot – a serendipitous meeting of the two families at an ice cream shop they apparently both frequent – is totally worth the resulting root beer float spit-take. She even helps the thoroughly embarrassed teen clean up the mess and manages not to laugh when his voice squeaks as he thanks her.

Lastly, they invite Bethany’s mom to join the crew at the courthouse for the non-ceremony itself - an offer which causes her to cackle gleefully over the phone, loud enough to cause a few bursts of static to jump and zip down the line, because no way would her dignified, unflappable mother ever sink so low as to jump up and down and clap her hands like cartoon villain who’s diabolical plan is coming to fruition. Especially as Bethany is quite positive her mother had absolutely nothing to do with it.

She still sends a suspicious look to the ceiling as she finishes the call, though, followed by an equally suspicious narrow-eyed glare at the back of Brad's head where he paces, oblivious to her scrutiny, on his cell phone across the room.

"Meddling deities," she mutters.  
...

And then, late in the afternoon on Friday, April 25, 2008, with Rab and Mary acting as witness, Liz and Loki standing up as Maid of Honor and Best Man respectively, and Illana bouncing excitedly beside them, they sign the paperwork. 

They kiss, everyone claps and cheers, and the newly-weds are liberally peppered with birdseed on the courthouse stairs. They do pause long enough to get a few very informal pictures to commemorate the event, but ten minutes later everyone piles into their vehicles for the short trip to the Candle.

The party, after all, is just getting started.  
...

It’s almost 2 o’clock in the morning before all the none-essential guests call it a night - Carlos and his band, As Is, definitely know how to keep a party going, and the boy most certainly has talent. She’s not the only one to think so, either, and Bethany grins when she notices Rab shake his hand during tear down, telling him his music and is band are welcome to come play at the Candle any time.

A quick run through also informs her that there are enough leftovers lying on the buffet table to last them a week, despite the whole point of a carry-in in the first place – in that, whatever gets carried in should, thus, get carried out as well. Apparently what she forbade in wedding gifts (not that that it stopped a few anyway) the guests all made up for in food, and it’s only the Candle’s industrial-sized fridge that allows them the space to store it all. Rab’s selection of liquors and booze behind the bar has definitely taken a hit, too, but he – as well as everyone else – is cheerfully mellow enough not to care about the small fortune it will take to restock it. 

Finally, after shooing away the last of the stragglers, 2:30am finds Bethany in one of the cushy chairs some resourceful party guest dragged from the wall near the stage, half asleep against her new husband's shoulder. Illana, who should have been home and in bed hours ago, lays curled asleep at their side, though at some point she did, at least, have the foresight to change out of her wedding duds and into a pair of soft leggings more appropriate for running around the guests and making mischief with her friends. She's also covered to her knees in an oversized men’s dress shirt that, based on the color and style, started the evening on either Brad or Loki. Lifting her head, Bethany peers blearily around the room at the rest of her nearest and dearest, all scattered in various states of sprawl and inebriation around them, and it's not long before her eyes pick out Liz, curled in a booth next to a snoring Loki and wearing the shirt's partner over her slinky party dress. Bethany's exhausted brain decides that trying to figure out which shirt started where is quite beyond her capabilities at this point and thus stops trying. 

Continuing her weary perusal, she also notes several pairs of stockinged feet sticking off the end of a booth here and there, some tangled mops of hair peeking over the back of a few others... and that they are surrounded on all sides by a wreckage of ripped streamers, confetti and flaccid balloons. The Candle's greatroom is a mess and clean up duty tomorrow... er... later today will be a doozie, but for now, she just smiles and settles her head back against Brad's shoulder, reveling in the feeling of being surrounded by the people she loves most in the world.

Despite what the rest of that world probably thinks should be happening instead, Bethany really can’t think of a more perfect wedding night. 

Besides... she's a married woman now, and they have all the nights from here on out to revel in _that_ particular tradition.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :O
> 
> TWO posts in one week?! Will wonders never cease!
> 
> Don't worry, though, it's a short one, so hopefully that will neutralize any world-ending properties that may have otherwise manifested. ;)

(June)

Late spring in Illinois means storms, frequently and with most ranging in severity from “moderate” to “Mother Nature on a warpath”. And, by the looks of it, tonight was leaning more toward the latter end of the spectrum and it was probably going to get quite noisy before dawn. She checks and double checks to make sure the tornado alarm on their weather radio is primed, then she silently wishes Metatron and his ten pin team good luck before calling it a night.

Unsurprisingly, Bethany, burdened with being a single mom for the better part of a decade, and Brad, burdened with a shitload of history and the memories of being both immortal and a solider for a fair portion of it, both wake up when the storm rolls in a few hours before dawn. She can’t find it within her to be too upset, though, because it also leads to cuddling. Married life has its perks.

The storm increases in severity, winds kicking up and lightning getting more frequent. So far there are no sirens, though, so they fall into a light doze, listening to the rain as it pounds against the roof.

They pass maybe a quarter of an hour that way before she opens her eyes again, alerted by a new sound, so quiet it’s almost imperceptible through the cacophony that thunders over their heads. She listens, and a moment later she hears it again and, even through the storm, she recognizes it for what it is – the quiet pad of bare feet on the hallway outside the bedroom door.

“I know it's just a storm and not the end of the world or anything,” Illana says, clutching a care-worn and tattered doggy blanket to her chest, “but it's _loud_ and there are some things God doesn't have any control over, like scary strong winds and tornadoes and getting hit by lightning."

As if to highlight her words, there is a bright flash followed almost instantaneously by a crash loud enough to rattle the whole house. Illana lets out a small "eep!" of distress and makes a flying leap onto the covers between them, trying very hard to hide beneath the pillows.

"So," a small, muffled voice asks from beneath several layers of fabric, "can I sleep with you tonight?"

Bethany lets out a small burst of air, not quite a laugh, and rubs a comforting hand across the lump of blankets and pillows where her daughter used to be. "Yeah, pumpkin, that'll be fine."

She shares a soft smile with Brad over the quivering pile of fabric that now separates them. Then they lie back down, curling close, Illana a spot of warmth between them.

*

When Bethany wakes up again a few hours later, the storm has passed. Watery light shines in through the window, the day young enough that it still has a rosy hue of sunrise. Next to her, both her bedmates still sleep, Brad’s arms wrapped around Illana where the girl curls trustingly against his chest.

She didn’t think it was possible to love either of them more, but once again fate and meddling deities seem determined to prove her wrong. In this instance, however she doesn’t mind in the least.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all have my most sincere and utmost apologies for such a long delay. I swear I has this chapter finished and ready to post months ago, I only meant to set it aside to stew for a few days before one final proof read. Flash forward to ... -shame face- ... a little more than 8 months later when I am clearing out my email and find it abandoned and forlorn in my drafts folder. /o\
> 
> (queue Price is Right WAAA-waaaaah noise for Epic Fails)
> 
> Again, I am really really sorry.

(September)

Bethany holds a basket of dirty laundry against one cocked hip, head tilted as she contemplates the controls on the washing machine. On the one hand, the muffled shoosh of the shower through the wall at her back is a reminder that it is currently in use and, entertaining though it may be to interrupt her beau’s hot shower with a sudden dousing of cold water, she’s been on the receiving end of that particular house quirk too many times to willingly inflict it on anyone else. At least not without good reason.

On the other hand, it’s already 8pm on a Sunday night and all her work clothes are dirty, and previous experience has proven that the odds of successfully completing a load of laundry on a Monday morning – in particular a Monday morning when both Illana and Brad have early meetings to attend, the former for Science Club and the latter a case meeting with his Chicago team – are next to nothing.

She sighs and sends a mental apology to Brad as she reaches to reset the dial. The man _is_ four thousand-some years old, after all; it’s not like it’ll be the first cold shower he’s ever had to live through. Some people even find them invigorating.

Cheered by the thought, she cranks the knob to the necessary setting. Before she has a chance to start the machine, though, a cut-off “MOTHER FU--!” – followed quickly by a thud and plastic clatter – from the adjoined wall has her spinning toward the exclamation.

She turns back to the washing machine in confusion, her hand still poised over the start button she never actually got around to pushing.

There is another soft thump, followed by more cursing and the sound of the shower abruptly turning off. Abandoning her laundry for the time being, she makes her way to the bathroom door to investigate… just in time to see it nudged open slightly from within and a steam-fogged Angel glide out past her toes. If Bethany didn’t know any better, she’d have said there was a decidedly smug flick to the reptile’s tail as she slithered down the hall to disappear into Illana’s room.

She sighs, pushing the door open the rest of the way and utterly unsurprised to find Brad in an undignified naked sprawl, half in and half out of the shower enclosure and surrounded on all sides by bath products and shower poofs. Picking her way through the carnage, she offers him a hand and sympathetic look loaded with understanding.

“Anything broken?” she asks.

“Only my pride,” he replies, accepting her hand and wincing slightly as she helps pull him to his feet. He rubs at a red spot on his shoulder, then another larger one showing up vividly against the pale skin of his right hip and butt cheek. “And a few interesting new bruises,” he adds ruefully, accepting the fresh towel Bethany hands him and wrapping it gingerly around his waist. “I don’t think Angel likes me.”

Bethany snorts, leaning against the sink and crossing her arms. “Angel likes you fine, she just likes messing with people more. You should have seen the two of us the first month or so after she took up residence – ending up bruised and naked on the bathroom floor wasn’t even the half of it.”

“Really not comforting, dear,” he drawls sardonically, reaching around her for his toothbrush.

“You married the wrong half of the family if you want comforting,” she says cheekily. “We Scions are much better at mocking.” 

“Rab was already taken, I had to settle.”

She continues, undaunted. “You were totally just bested by a snake.”

“By your own admission, so were you. Multiple times,” he sing-songs back.

“Yeah, but I had an honest phobia going for me. You, on the other hand, are all wise and worldly and learned, Mister Multiple PHds, and still ended up out-maneuvered by a reptile.”

“Are you finished?”

“Her brain is the size of my thumb nail.”

“I was surprised.”

“Phenomenal Cosmic Powers.”

“ _Formerly_ phenomenal cosmic powers. Itty bitty shower stall.”

Bethany chuckles, inclining her head in point. “Fair enough.”

He finishes rinsing and then suddenly hooks a finger into her belt loops to pull her in for a quick minty kiss. She squirms half-heartedly, grimacing at the wet splotches the soggy embrace leaves on her nice dry clothes.

“You could always kiss it at make it better,” he suggests, looping his arms around her waist. His hands are shower-warm against her backside, even through the thick denim of her jeans.

She leans in suggestively, smiling. Then, while he’s distracted, twists to the left and ducks under his arm.

“Later, tiger,” she says, with a wink and a smile as she makes her way back to the door, slapping his un-bruised cheek playfully as she passes by. “The laundry room awaits and I am out of clean underwear.”

He perks up at that, even as she pulls the door closed behind her. “Does that mean you’re going commando?” yells through it.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out, champ,” she smirks.


End file.
